Yellow Spots
by Smoochy
Summary: Something happens with the Joker, something that may change his life forever. Slash BatmanxJoker
1. Vengeance

Title: Yellow spots  
Pairing: Batman(Bruce)/Joker  
Rating: NC-17, R  
Words: 2800  
Warnings: slash, violence, sexual content  
A/N: So i've started another ficcy today because the idea of it choked me and i had to write it to brak free =D Well, this is my second fi and English still isn't my first language, so please, in case you find some mistakes (and i'm sure there're a lot of them) have a mercy and point them out in comments. Also, i'd like to say that it's my first NC-17 story ever, i'm still going through the awkwardness of writing it especially in foreign language but i did my my best for you to feel comfortable reading it :3 I usually don't make great plans for my stories but this one i've planned to the very end already 8D  
Please, comments are VERY appreciated =]

**Yellow spots. **

Chapter 1.

He steps into his apartment, locking the door as soon as he's inside. He glances around shortly. Everything is the same as it was the last time he was here.

The Joker makes his way to the fridge covered with a thick layer of dust and pulls the handle. There are bottle of orange juice and some old apples inside. That's all. He growls, irritated as he hears his stomach makes hungry noises. Sighing, he takes the juice out and drinks from the bottle, not bothering to get a glass, leaving red lipstick as his lips touch the bottleneck. The juice is spoilt already, but he doesn't mind since it's the first thing he got in his mouth for the last day and a half.

He thinks whether to risk or not with the apple but decides against it, closing the fridge box and going to the tiny bedroom to find his bed sheets also covered with dust. Too exhausted to care he lies down, letting his muscles relax and closes his eyes for a moment.

It was just yesterday when he escaped Arkham Asylum and the whole city knows about that already. Damn those reporters, spoiling all his fun. Of course he'd planned a fabulous effective appearance to catch all of them off-guard and show everyone, show _Batsy_ that he's not over, no, no, no!

He giggles at his own thoughts slightly, a new idea forming at his head already. Does Bat miss him? Well, he _should _be!

He freezes suddenly, sensing something, someone else in the apartment, all of his senses becoming keener immediately. He grabs his knife at once, getting of the bed and moving to another room silently, trying to see that bastard who dared to come here through the darkness. He turns his head over and over again but he can't see a thing through the dark room. He's not afraid, god, no, of course not, he's just thrilled to know he's gonna have some fun right here.

Then Joker hears a quiet, almost unnoticeable sound of movement behind him and when he turns around he suddenly feels a needle pricking his neck. He's surprised and shocked but before he can say anything he feels his head go heavy and everything goes black. The last thing he sees is a pair of white latex gloves above him just before the darkness swallows him.

Bruce sits in his room in front of a TV, feeling tired and exhausted. He switches the channels absent-mindedly when he finds the one with the news running on it. He leans back on the coach to see the image of the Joker is shown on the screen again and to hear the voice of the announcer warning people to be careful because the criminal is really dangerous and they haven't found out how he had escaped Arkham yet.

Bruce sighs heavily, feeling irrational responsibility for that. He shoves that thought away, knowing perfectly well that he'd done everything he could to catch the villain and he is in no way to blame. He's just gonna wait for the Joker to show himself and then the chase would begin again as if it never stopped.

There's a quiet cough behind him and he turns around to see Alfred standing in the doorway with a tray of food in his hands.

"I brought your breakfast, sir" he says coming to Bruce and setting the tray on the table by the couch. Alfred glances at the TV screen and back at Bruce with the understanding expression on his face. "What are you going to do now, Master Wayne?" Alfred asks him.

"Well, it's not that I have a big choice, isn't it?" Bruce says bitterly, feeling his muscles aching and he wants nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep for another hour at least, in spite of the fact that it's eight in the morning and he has to go and run a company.

He does feel awful, actually. Ever since the Joker was locked in prison, Bruce just stopped having normal sleep, tossing and turning in bed till morning and feeling exhausted all the day after that. His mind just can't stop working, Bruce himself isn't sure why, but that annoys him terribly. But the most horrible part of him, even though Bruce would never admit it, that part always wanted the Joker to appear again because of that selfish idea of having sleep again since the Joker is in the city. He doesn't even know how the Joker and his insomnia can be connected but somehow he just knows. That fact itself is enough to make him angry and irritated.

His patrolling as Batman is also getting more and more difficult since his body can't function normally because of insomnia, getting his reflexes slower, his mind clouded, making him afraid of falling asleep during the flight above the city. And when he's home finally and in his bed, the sleep just wouldn't come. Instead, he'd be napping in his work cabinet the next day with his head on the desk.

The loud noise from the TV makes him snap out of his trance to see Alfred is no longer in the room. He sighs, now alone like always, and he's feeling sad suddenly wishing for any company, even Alfred's just to shut that hole inside of him. But he's not ten anymore to bawl over being alone, so he gets the first sandwich Alfred made for him and stares in the TV screen, not really seeing anything in it.

All his body aches, his eyelids are heavy and impossible to open, his mouth dry. His head is so heavy he doubts he can lift it. Slowly, reality downs on him and he finds himself sitting in something like a chair, his hands and legs tied to it, his eyes also tied, and his mouth gagged. The cool waft catches him and Joker shivers slightly only then realising he's completely naked and his face clean of make-up.

Through the horror and panic that strikes him suddenly he can feel that someone's watching him. He wants to move and struggle and fight, but he's unable to move. The fear clutches his chest at this realization he's bound and gagged in some god only knows where place and that person that brought him here is watching him right know, probably enjoying his helplessness and defenselessness. Only one man in the world is allowed to hurt him and Joker is somehow sure the observer is not that person. He tries to move again only to make his head hurt him even more and he lets out a whimper, hating a position he found himself into. However, his poor attempts make the silent person come closer to him.

And then the Joker hears it, nothing more than a whisper, but he's sure he'll remember it for his whole life. That whisper is cold, low, quiet and absolutely emotionless, as if it belongs to a robot.

"Now tell me what you feel" the voice says, making Joker shiver. New wave of panic overcomes him for a moment. The ridiculousness of the demand to speak with his mouth gagged goes unnoticed. "How do you feel, helpless, unable to do anything, your entire destiny in my hands?"

The whisper seems to go straight to his brain, sounding deep in his ears.

'Who the hell are you?!' he struggles to say but only the muffled sounds come out. The man, however, seems to understand him without any words.

"I'm just the one of thousands people whose life you destroyed, you scum" and for the first time Joker hears uncontrollable rage in the whisperer's tone.

So it must be some idiot who decided to avenge his dead loved one, Joker thinks, biting on the gag in vain.

"If only you could know just how much I enjoy hurting you" the man whispers thoughtfully and Joker now begins to recognize emotions in his tone. The words make him start, though. "Of course, I haven't done anything to you yet, I need you fully conscious for that, need you to see everything I do to you, need you to _feel_ it!" The whisper goes straight to his head as if there're headphones in Joker's ears, but there're none and the man, whoever he is, scars the shit out of him.

He feels the man makes a circle around him, only to stand in front of his face again. Suddenly Joker feels a cold metal pressed to his collarbone, its coldness makes shivers run down his spine. He swallows nervously, realising that it is probably a knife.

"Of course, you don't even remember her" he hears the whisper again. "To you she was just another one whom you killed without a back thought. But do you know-" he pauses, making another circle around the Joker, the knife never leaving clown's neck. "That we _have _to pay for _everything?_ Didn't you think that you'd be killing people like this, doing what you want forever with impunity, did you?"

Joker swallows. He can't see a thing through the material tying his eyes. Nothing.

Just the darkness.

And the whisper.

"Someone has to stop a monster like you" the whisper. The knife moves down to his chest. "For _the greater good_"

And then the man presses the knife deep into the Joker's skin, cutting his nipple, sending a huge wave of pain through all his body, making blood spurt from the wound. He lets out a muffled cry, feeling tears running down his cheeks from the incredible pain, making the material wet. He flinches and twitches violently in vain because the ties bind him very strongly. The next moment a gloved hand slaps him in the face with such a force that Joker thinks absent-mindedly that it's really a robot there.

He's about to try to move again, when he can feel two hands in latex gloves on his hips, pulling his legs wide apart, and a new wave of panic strikes him. He feels the blood running down his chest from a wounded nipple, and God, please, _please, _don't let him do _that_ –

"Now, I want you to feel _everything_" the voice hisses before he hears the sound of spit. He doesn't even have time to think before the man enters him roughly, his spit used as a lube, and Joker's body explodes at the pain he never even considered before. He screams and howls and twitches, shaking, as he feels his anus being torn apart by the man's hard cock, and it seem to him that the organ inside him reaches straight to his entrails. His body's shaking from the sobs he doesn't even try to stop, but his arms and legs are tied to the chair he's sitting on and there's absolutely _nothing _he can do about it.

'I am raped I am raped I am raped _rapedrapedraped_'

The darkness around him. The pounding of his heart in his ears. The mind-blowing pain all over his body.

He doesn't know how much time passes with the man thrusting his cock inside of Joker, squeezing his hips so strongly there'll be bruises some time later. But then, to his great horror, Joker feels the man hit some spot inside him and his own cock twitches at the sudden pleasure.

No no no _no –_

He can tell for sure that his kidnapper is smirking now. He tries desperately to force his erection to disappear but vainly, because of the man hitting his prostate again and again, and despite of all the pain he's still experiencing, his cock his rock hard now.

"Oh, you _little filthy whore_" the whisperer's voice in his ears. "You like it, _don't you? _You enjoy me fucking you, oh you lil' _bitch!_"

Joker's being hit again, this time with a knife right into his left shoulder. He creams, but nothing comes out but quiet whimpers. The blood now is running all over his chest and arms, and, _fuck_, Joker's still turned on, his cock aches with desire of being touched. He's panting, trying desperately to move up his hips to get any friction and suddenly there's no gag in his mouth.

"Come on, you scum, _say it!_" the man demands in furious whisper. "Beg me, you son of a bitch!"

He pulls his cock out of the Joker's bleeding entrance, clown's body is shaking now half of the pain and half of the desire and Joker's cock wet with his the pre-come.

"_Beg me, NOW!_"

"Pl- Please…" he manage to breath out. "_Please…_"

"Please _what_?"

"Please… put it… put it back…" Joker chokes out between the heavy sobs. The man doesn't hurry.

"What? I can't hear you" he mocks.

"Please – _fuck me! Please, oh god, please, anything, FUCK ME!_" Joker cries with a great effort.

"Yeah, I knew you were a fucking whore, nothing more" the man whispers, satisfied and before he begins to thrust in clown again, he puts the gag in Joker's mouth.

He thrusts, and Joker can't follow the reality anymore, everything's just blurred, the waves of pleasure hitting him mixed with pain. He feels the man is on his edge and he wants to tell him not to come inside of him but he can't let out a word.

"I see there wasn't anybody before me in here" the sadist whispers, his voice not even shaky. "But you _could_ wash yourself at least" he jeers.

He thrusts roughly in and out and the next moment Joker comes, his semen on his own stomach. His tormentor soon follows him, coming right inside of the Joker.

The man pulls his cock out of the clown again. The gag disappears at once.

"Now clean it up" The voice orders as the Joker feels the cock is pressed to his mouth. He doesn't move.

"I said _clean it up_, you useless bitch" he repeats grabbing Joker's cock and squeezing it hard making the Joker scream with pain. He's too hurt, shocked and exhausted to fight, so he opens his mouth and puts the man's penis in it, licking all its length.

"Good bitch" The sadist whispers. He steps back, making some distance between him and the Joker who doesn't have strength to move now. He just relaxes on the chair where he's tied to; his ass hurts him incredibly, as his nipple and shoulder too. He's still panting unable to calm himself, refusing to think about what just has happened, preferring to shut his mind off.

"Now, I have important things to do, so I leave you here for now, don't… go anywhere" he mocks. "I'll back eventually; I have lots of fun planned with you, actually"

There's silence for some long moments when Joker thinks that the man is gone already. But then the gag is moved in his mouth again stuck up with the Scotch tape.

"And remember this one thing" the whisper is in his ears again. "You're mine now. My _whore_"

And with that the Joker is left alone, tied to the chair, naked, covered with semen, blood, unable to move and completely broken.

Bruce yawns, stretching. Other sleepless hours in bed. He's called Lucius Fox this morning and took the day off to go to bed and just sleep but all in vain. He just ended up tossing and turning even after taking his pills.

Alfred came into the room with a glass of water, looking at Bruce sympathetically.

"Couldn't sleep again, sir?"

"Nope" Bruce mutters, popping 'p' irritably. Isn't it obvious by his appearance that he couldn't fucking sleep again?! Then why ask?

Alfred hands him a glass. Bruce drinks the water immediately, feeling something mixed in it.

"I added a pill there, Master Wayne, to save you from a headache" Alfred explains.

"Thank you, Alfred" Bruce says tiredly. "Still nothing from the Joker?" He asks the butler, hating the hopeful hint in his tone.

If Alfred hears it, he lets it go. "No, sir, nothing yet"  
Alfred is frowning suddenly, turning his head around. "what's that, sir?" He asks Bruce fishily.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred looks at him meaningfully but Bruce still doesn't get it. Alfdred shakes his head slightly then, rubbing the skin under his nose thoughtfully. "Nothing, sir. Nothing."

Bruce nods, letting Alfred's strange behaviour go, somehow disappointed at the lack of actions from his arch nemesis. He gets up from the bed, feeling the action of drug as his head hurts less now. He dresses up and goes down to his cage to begin to prepare for a next night out as the Batman since it's almost ten in the evening already.

Well, he thinks, grabbing the parts of his Kevlar costume, I have nothing to do but wait for now, don't I?

He nods to himself slightly. Joker is Joker and Batman is Batman. The lack of the one doesn't save him from doing his own job.

All he's to do is just to wait.

Here's it! The first chap! Do you like it? Hate it? Please, review! :D


	2. Rescue

**Title**: Yellow spots  
**Pairing**: Batman(Bruce)/Joker  
**Rating**: NC-17, R  
**Words**: 3500  
**Warnings**: slash, violence, sexual content  
**Disclaimer**: don't own anything  
**A/N**: So i've started another ficcy today because the idea of it choked me and i had to write it to break free =D Well, this is my second fic and English still isn't my first language, so please, in case you find some mistakes (and i'm sure there're a lot of them) have a mercy and point them out in comments. Also, i'd like to say that it's my first NC-17 story ever, i'm still going through the awkwardness of writing it especially in foreign language but i did my my best for you to feel comfortable reading it :3 I usually don't make great plans for my stories but this one i've planned to the very end already 8D  
Please, comments are VERY appreciated =]

**Chapter 2.**

He doesn't think anymore because it's easier this way. He refuses to acknowledge the reality where he's a sexual slave to some sadistic bastard; he just shuts his mind off. His tormentor comes every day (or so he guesses because he never gets an opportunity to check the time) for about ten minutes to fuck him roughly and then the man disappears for the rest of the day, leaving the Joker alone, bound and gagged, his eyes forced to being closed.

He stopped counting the days after he reached twelfth day and from then about three or four days have passed, he isn't sure. The material never leaved his eyes, the ties never been unbound, and he began to feel his arms and legs go numb more and more, until one day he doesn't feel his limbs at all. He just needs to move them to fix the blood circulation a bit, but the kidnapper just wouldn't even consider this, probably thinking the Joker would try to escape once his arms and legs are free. He just doesn't get that the Joker _can't move_ as much as he'd like to and after some days in that place, he somehow stopped care. The apathy swallowed him, after being fucked within an inch of his life, he just stopped paying mental attention to it. His body reflected, but his mind was far away from all that horror. Sometimes, of course, the pain was too much for him and he passed out, only to wake from another wave of pain.

And the most unbelievable fact is that the man didn't once get a slip or raised his voice for Joker to remember it. Always the whisper. Always the darkness. Always the large hands in white latex doctor gloves.

The only one think he began to recognize is the smell. The weak smell of cigarettes hitting Joker's nostrils every time the man's in the room.

The smell of cigarettes. That's all he got.

He stopped hoping, either. After being locked and tormented like this for about two weeks in a row, he stopped hoping that somehow, somebody, _his Bats_, would find him in there and come to his rescue and then it all would be over.

But nobody came.

He doesn't know when he sleeps. His brain just shuts off sometimes only to wake later in the same position. He doesn't dream anymore, and he's glad with that fact, knowing exactly _what about _his dreams would be if he had them.

His body is now a bloody mess, nothing more. Each time the man is fucking him, thrusting inside of his bloody torn ass, he would hold his knife against the Joker's skin to cut him, hit him with it until the Joker passes out from the pain and blood loss. His guesses his thinner now too, because the man feeds him only once in two-three days, taking away the dirty gag and putting some bread in his mouth forcing the Joker to chew and swallow then giving him water from the bottle. The Joker can do without food, of course, but not being able to have a sip of water for three days in a row just turns his body inside out.

"What were you doing here whilst being alone?" He hears the whisper not far away from him, signaling that the man is here again. Joker doesn't even move. "Hope you wasn't bored all alone"

He steps closer to the clown, his steps light and noiseless as if he's moving without touching the floor. The smell of cigarettes touches clown's nose. The gag disappears.

"How do you feel being _all alone_ in the world, knowing that _nothing_ can ever save you from the loneliness?" Cold blade on Joker's now covered with dried blood and dirt chest.

"You just _have_ to know, after all, it was you who made me feel that way" The knife is pressed to the Joker's cheek too close to his scars. The clown pants, suddenly very clear-minded to realize what the man is about to do. He doubts whether he would be able to bear it one more time.

The knife is on his left cheek now, touching his scar, and Joker winces.

"You know" whisper, whisper, whisper straight to his brain "I haven't smiled once since you killed her. I think it's only fair for me to do _this_"

And with that he runs the knife on his scars, cutting them open once again, making a new Glasgow smile on his face. The Joker black out momentarily, unable to stand the pain neither physically nor mentally, but the sadistic bastard shakes him awake. The pain is so strong that for some moments he doesn't feel anything, but the next, his mouth seems to explode. Everything's burning, the air going through his cut mouth making the pain more unbearable and he faints once again, tears streaming down his face mixed with dark red blood.

The man doesn't let him hide behind the unconsciousness for a moment. Joker can't see anything but he immediately feels a cascade of icy-cold water rush onto his whole body, taking the blood to the floor with it. He's cold, so fucking cold his teeth begin to chatter. Nevertheless, it doesn't stop the blood run from his new-made permanent smile.

"See?" the bastard whispers "I can't smile myself, but I make the other smile!"

And he disappears somewhere, leaving the Joker bleed awfully, but he can't feel it because he drifts to unconsciousness happily.

All that Alfred's strange behavior begins to annoy Bruce already. He could bear with it at first, not questioning Alfred's suspicious glares the butler is shooting him all the time.

But when the Bruce catches the old man rooting in his coat pockets it puts him to the edge of patience.

"What are you doing, Alfred?" He asks the butler in an icy tone, hoping with his voice to express all his disappointment in Alfred's behavior. But, really, rooting in his pockets?! If Alfred wanted to know something so badly he could at least ask Bruce without breaking his personal space like that!

However, when Alfred turns around, Bruce can see fury, disappointment and… hurt on his face. Alfred quickly puts his right hand in his own pocket before Bruce has an opportunity to see what he holds in there. Isn't it something Alfred has just dig out of Bruce's coat?

"Nothing. Just cleaning up your coats" Alfred says through gritted teeth, and the fact that the butler didn't say 'sir' means the old man is really angry with him for some reason.

Bruce is tired from all that. If Alfred's angry so why didn't he tell that Bruce already? Why does Bruce have to investigate for the reason of his butler's irrational offences?

"Alfred" Bruce says wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose and searching for his pills in the pocket of his jeans. He finds them and pops one dry. "What's it you are fuming about?"

There's a long silence until Alfred sighs finally "Nothing, sir. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable" And with that Alfred passes Bruce without any other word and disappears in another room, leaving Bruce angry and irritated and wondering what he had done wrong.

He approaches his coat hanging in the wardrobe and looks into his own pockets with some dread at what he might find there. But there's nothing but a simple handkerchief inside.

He sighs. "Screw you, Alfred" he mutters under his breath.

He doesn't have time for Alfred's stupid cat-and-mouse games. He has to visit one particular cop now as Batman. Particular commissioner, exactly.

But before that, he's going to have a shower.

"Have you heard anything about him, Batman?" Gordon asks him with always-present respect and awe in his voice.

"No" Batman growls, disappointed. Where's the fucking Joker, damn it?! "That's why I came here. I need you to do the most careful research and do your best to find him" He asks the commissioner, but it comes out rather like an order.

Gordon looks very doubtful all of a sudden. "Look, Batman" he begins hesitantly "He's nowhere to be found. He seems to… have disappeared. No one suffers from it. Mobs are still afraid of that clown. What I mean is…" he pauses meaningfully, his eyebrows quirked slightly. "I suggest we don't do anything about the Joker for now"

"You do realize that all that is just a momentary lull in the fighting? He's out somewhere preparing for the big outcome and when he's ready none of us would be able to stop him! We must do something _**now**_!" Batman growls irritably, cross with the Gordon's uncertainty. What's the hell wrong with the man?! How can he not understand the importance of the situation?! Gotham is in danger and he refuses to do anything about it!

'_You're not worried for the city'_ the small voice in his head says. _'you just want the Joker because then you won't be bored out of your mind, and you're hoping to sleep again'_

No, Bruce shakes his head slightly to the voice, no, he's not like that! He just wants everyone to be happy!

'_Liar'_ the voice says again _'you want __**yourself**__to be happy'_

He doesn't have time to process the thought because Gordon says.

'Look, I understand you concern, Batman, I really do, but…" He sighs heavily. "The Joker just… disappeared. Think it over. May be he decided to leave to another city, maybe he's tired of causing chaos, may be something happened to him… Gosh, may be he's just dead already!" Gordon exclaims eagerly. "I so hope that's true and we can breath easily now!"

Bruce can't believe what he hears. He just… can't. Commissioner Gordon, such a man of honor wishes death to another human being so willingly! He can't get it, even if this human being is the Joker. He always considered this man to be superior to that.

He was obviously mistaken as he can see now.

Without another word, Batman jumps down from the roof of the building and disappears in the dark, leaving Gordon watching him with sorrow expression on his face.

Drop.

Drop, drop.

Drop.

That's the only sound he can hear.

Drop.

The blood from his mouth is running down his naked exposed body and red drops falls in a pool of blood on the floor. He counts them, cause he has nothing else to do and he has to distract himself from the pain.

Drop. Thirty-seven.

Drop, drop. Thirty-nine.

He can't moved his mouth because of the pain and the same dirty material inside.

Drop. Forty-one.

He can't bring himself to care about blood poisoning.

Drop. Forty-three.

He can't bring himself to care about anything.

Drop, drop, drop.

He rather feels than hears the man's appearance. The smell of cigarettes is heavy in his nostrils. It's just with the lack of using his vision, his other senses like smell and hearing became keener.

He feels the man approach him. The familiar feeling of a cold knife appears at once.

He doesn't talk this time. He just pulls Joker's legs wide apart and enters him roughly with the spit as a lube. It still hurt the Joker but not that much as the first time. He doesn't cry anymore and he doubts there's any water left in his worn organism. The man grabs the clown's cock and squeezes it until the Joker sees stars and hears quite giggling.

The sadist hits his prostate and the Joker's body responds itself, his cock hardens sending warmth up his body.

"Oh you fuckin' bitch, you like it" the whisper comes out. "You filthy little whore! Do you enjoy being a little dirty bedding for me? Does it turn you on to know you're nothing more than a sick scum?!"

Joker screams as the knife digs into his skin right above the nipples and the man begins to run the blade over the clown's exposed chest. The hot blood spurts from the wound again on the chest where's no uncut spot is left. And then he realizes.

'_He's writing something into my skin_'

"Look at him – the Great and Horrible Clown Prince of Gotham is a sick whore, who likes being fucked in his little bony ass!"

The pain mixed with pleasure, the Joker is loosing his mind again, he's twitching and whimpering. He was mistaken to think there were no tears left in his body because he's crying, his body's shaking with sobs. The man comes inside of him like he always does, and in a moment he disappears, leaving the Joker rock hard, desperately trying to do something, _anything_ to bring relief but in vain. His cock aches with desire to be touched and he cries harder with the desperation and hurt and in the moment he wishes nothing more than to die right here and right now.

But he just can't. So he's forced to stay in the position he's into, tied and bleeding and turned on. He doesn't care how much pathetic and paltry he is. Crying hurts him, each slight twitch of his body hurts him immensely but le just has to cry out these tears.

So he cries, nothing but darkness around him.

Bruce is patrolling the dark alleys for what seems like an eternity but is less than an hour in reality. Nothing, absolutely nothing for today, no mob crimes, no fights, _no Joker_.

He knows he should be truly happy and pleased with that fact as the Gotham city finally became calm and quiet but what's in there for Batman left then? No crimes – no need for Batman. Is it some sort of… a pension then? His mission accomplished and so Batman is about to retire insensibly?

It shouldn't hurt him that much, should it?

He walks down the alley slowly, a lump in his throat and pounding of his heart in the ears, his pulse quickened noticeably. He takes off his heavy gloves enjoying the air over his warm hands, and he rubs his lips thoughtfully.

Is it how Batman ends?

He sighs heavily when something catches his attention. He looks carefully to the spot under the tree where something is shining slightly at the street light. He approaches the place to see a small knife lying on the ground, the blade covered with dried blood. He bends down and takes it with his bare hands, regretting the action immediately, knowing there would be his own finger-prints now. He puts it in his Bat-belt carefully to examine it lately in the cave.

Now he has to find someone or something as a next clue.

He turns around, his gaze stopping at the worn sign of an old deserted shop few feet away from him. The place really isn't the best for a shop, Bruce thinks as he glances at a dark filthy alley surrounding it and no other shop for what seems like a mile around. Something, his sixth sense or his intuition, whatever, draws and attracts him to the shop with ragged, covered with writings walls and he follows his senses without a back thought.

He steps into the darkness of the room warily and he can't see a thing there. He takes out a small flash-light from his Bat-belt and turns it on; the small light makes him able to see a door in the opposite wall. He approaches it carefully and quietly, adrenalin rushing to his head.

He pushes the door open slowly and sees a winding stairs leading to a vault probably. Bruce winces slightly as the smell of moisture and mold catches him. Somehow that makes him even more determined to go downstairs to find… something, _anything _–

He goes slowly and carefully not to make any noises to attract any attention to himself.

The spiral ends abruptly and Bruce steps on the tiled floor. He finds himself in a small cramped hall with a tiny lamp under the ceiling to light the place a bit and Bruce switches off his flash-light, putting it back in the belt. The ceiling is so low he has to bow his head down not to bump it against the ceiling.

There's only one door with a torn off door-handle, and suddenly Bruce has a strong feeling that he shouldn't go in there, there's something wrong in the air itself. But Bruce has gone too far already to back off like that now, so he collects himself and pushes the door open, preparing himself for the worst.

He freezes as soon as he realizes what exactly he sees in front of himself. Whatever he thought would be in there, he didn't even consider _it_. He swallows nervously, not knowing what to do.

There's an emaciated frame of a man bound and gagged on the chair right in the middle of a dark empty room, with the only light above the man's head. The person's limbs are tied to the chair, his mouth gagged, his eyes also tied. His entire body is covered with blood and something white which Bruce doesn't _want_ to identify. For a moment he thinks the man is dead, but when he comes closer he can see his chest rising and falling falteringly. He makes a few steps closer when he suddenly recognizes who exactly is that half dead person.

The Joker himself is tied to the chair, extremely scrawny as if not being fed for some days, his mouth is actually – Bruce gasps – cut right by his old scar line, making a new Glasgow smile. His chest is a bloody mess, but when Bruce leans closer he can read some words incised right into the man's skin. He gasps again as he reads it '_**Little filthy whore**_'.

Bruce backs away suddenly too shocked and panic stricken at the moment to process what he sees, _who _he sees. The thought that it's actually his anticipated arch enemy makes him wince. He just can't match the Joker he knew before – with all of his make-up and green hair and that broken exposed and raped – God, _raped_ – man, bound and gagged in front of him. What is Bruce to do now?!

He approaches the Joker again to examine him closely when his enemy stirs almost unnoticeably. His wrinkles his nose slightly, smelling something and then he asks, no, rather lets out a barely heard whimper through the gag. Bruce pulls it out of the Joker's mouth and the clown tries again "_Who… is this?_"

Bruce doesn't know what to say or do, completely lost at actions. Joker tries to open his mouth again only to set open his wounds and the blood begins to drip from his mouth. Not knowing what else he can do, Bruce leans closer to unbind the ties binding the Joker. He leaves the material on his eyes, though, not wanting the Joker to know who he is for now.

He hesitates for a moment then, before finally lifting the Joker in his arms and pulling him close, surprised immensely at how light the Joker is, probably because of the exhaustion, but he does weighs like a small child and for a moment Bruce feels sorry for him.

The Joker seems to have blacked out, so, hugging him close to his chest, Bruce makes his way outside to the dark alley and then to his Tumbler parked in the bushes carefully. He places the Joker's shaking form in the seat and after some thinking, he gets a blanket he always has in the Tumbler just in case and throws it over the shivering man, wrapping him up tightly. The blanket gets soaked with the blood immediately.

Bruce pauses, unable to think of where to go now. He certainly can't get the Joker in Arkham, not like this. Ad, besides, he has to interrogate the clown about everything he knows about the person who made this to him.

He glances at the clown's chest now covered with the blanket. Bruce just can't get out of his head the image of the words scratched in his skin permanently. He wonders briefly what kind of a person could do that to another human being.

His gaze shifts to the man under the cover. He looks tiny now, wrapped in some kind of a ball, his hair covered with dirt and blood but Bruce can see they are blond. The new feeling washes over him, the one Bruce doesn't want to acknowledge. Instead he just turns on the engine and heads to his Wayne house, getting his cell phone to call Alfred and prepare him for what he's about to see, for the old butler not to have a heart-attack.

Well, Bruce thinks dialing Alfred's number, Batman is certainly not over.

Thanx for reading, please review! Hope you enjoyed =D


	3. Everyone's suspect

Hello again! I'm so awfully inexplicably happt to know i've gathered 18 points to the team you have no idea!! 8D So i've decided to finish the third chap today since i have some free time now. Wow, i just can't help writing more and more - it's 4000 words this one, actually! Thank all of you guys for commenting and writing your hints, i appreciate that very much ^_^

**Title**: Yellow spots  
**Pairing**: Batman(Bruce)/Joker  
**Rating**: NC-17, R  
**Words**: 4000  
**Warnings**: slash, violence, sexual content  
**Disclaimer**: don't own anything  
**Summary**: Something happens with the Joker, something that may change his life forever.**  
****A/N**: So i've started another ficcy today because the idea of it choked me and i had to write it to break free =D Well, this is my second fic and English still isn't my first language, so please, in case you find some mistakes (and i'm sure there're a lot of them) have a mercy and point them out in comments. Also, i'd like to say that it's my first NC-17 story ever, i'm still going through the awkwardness of writing it especially in foreign language but i did my my best for you to feel comfortable reading it :3 I usually don't make great plans for my stories but this one i've planned to the very end already 8D  
Please, comments are VERY appreciated =]

Also guys, i'd like to say that i still don't have any beta, so who's interested - please, do write in comments =D

**Chapter 3.**

"Oh my God" Alfred says completely shocked at what he's seeing. His gaze shifts from Bruce to the Joker wrapped in a cocoon of the blanket in Bruce's arms, his head on the billionaire's shoulder. "What's… what's that? Is it… the Joker?" He asks Bruce in a slightly high-pitched voice as Bruce passes him and heads to the cave then stops abruptly.

He can't place the Joker in the dark room for prisoners, not after what he's gone through. God, he'll now have to deal with the rape victim, not the Joker he knew before. His arms tighten around the bony man in his arms subconsciously, pulling him closer. No, he certainly can't do this to him now.

Nodding to himself, Bruce turns around and walks to one of his guest rooms when Alfred speaks again, his offences are forgotten for now.

"Master Bruce, sir, what do you intend on doing with him?"

"I'm gonna take care of him now to investigate him when he's capable of talking normally. I need to find out who had done all that to him. Who has such strong causes to do something like that" Bruce pauses, sighing, feeling the heat from the clown's body. "I don't even know how much he's been kept in there, Alfred."

"Sir, when you called you said you've found someone who needs acute care, but I didn't even consider that…" the butler rubs his nose wearily. "I prepared all the medicine, though…"

"Good" Bruce says, wanting nothing more than to take off his Bat suit, but he just grits his teeth and carries Joker to the large light room. He doesn't put the man on the bed, stepping into the bathroom with him and placing the man into the tub.

He moves carefully, somehow afraid of squeezing the clown too hard and breaking his rib accidently. He lifts the blanket slowly and he's unable to tear his gaze from the sight of the villain's bare chest.

He reads the words scratched in the skin again and again.

'_Little filthy whore'_

He stares at the cut mouth, dried blood all over it, and he can't believe that this is the murderous machine he himself was fighting two something months ago. But this man is so broken himself that Bruce can't bring himself to hate him in that very moment. He has a wish to fix him, though, like he wants to fix everything else. He sighs as he grabs the hose and turns on the water, making sure it is the right temperature.

The water is running down the Joker's body taking all the blood and dirt and –he's sure of that - semen with it and Bruce disarranges Joker's hair to clean it, finally seeing the natural dark blond hair. He's so enchanted with watching the clown he doesn't even hear Alfred appear in the room, holding the first-aid set, sore expression on his face.

"Is he ready, sir?" Alfred asks Bruce, whole butler's disapproval evident in his voice. Bruce nods.

"Then I'm ready, too. You can go and take of the suit, sir"

Bruce hesitates for a moment "You sure, you don't need any help?"

A ghost of smile appears on Alfred's face, probably the first smile addressed to Bruce for the last two weeks. "I'm sure, Master Wayne. I've been stitching you up for ages, remember?"

Bruce smiles, relaxing a little, and walks out of the bathroom, leaving Alfred to do his job.

He changes in his usual clothes – a T-shirt and a pair of old jeans, the images of the naked Joker never leaving his mind. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of them as he quickly makes his way back to the bathroom.

He appears just in time to see Alfred putting the Joker's mouth in neat stitches. He freezes, mesmerized by the sight once again. The Joker face, clean from the blood and everything else looks so unreal, so unnatural, as if there's a mask on his face. As if all those make-up was the Joker's true face. Bruce shivers, stepping closer, not caring about the Joker would be able to see Bruce without a mask if he awakes. He's just sure, the clown won't awake now, and even if he somehow does, he won't be able to remember anything afterwards.

Bruce stares at the words on the man's chest again. Alfred follows his gaze and sighs heavily.

"I can't do anything about it" Alfred says sympathetically, waving his arm slightly above the Joker's injured chest but not touching him. "He'll have to live with these scars"

For a moment Bruce considers himself the one being informed he'd have to live his life with such cruel humiliating words written on his chest permanently. He winces, shoving the thought away. After all, Joker deserves all of that.

He surprises himself with such a statement. Does he? Does the Joker _really_ deserve being locked as a sexual toy for some God knows what time, bound and gagged, with his eyes tied, being fucked mercilessly? Bruce doubts anyone deserves that.

He takes a small chair and sits down next to Alfred just in time to see him make a final stitch on the Joker's ruined mouth. Bruce must say, like that, the scars look much more accurate than before. Alfred sighs tiredly, getting up and stretching his arms. He's about to leave when Bruce remembers another thing.

"Alfred, have you examined his… uh… _backside_?" Bruce asks the old man uncomfortably. Alfred doesn't seem to understand him. "I mean, he's been raped, Alfred. Far more than once. Have you seen it?" Bruce explains, blushing suddenly at the thought of seeing the Joker… in _this_ way.

"Oh" Alfred says, stepping back. "No, I didn't think about it, Master Wayne. Let's turn him around."

Together, they take the clown's arms and turn him on his stomach carefully. Bruce gasps at what he sees.

The Joker's anus looks like a hiatal hole and Bruce's sure that his fist can be put in without any resistance. It's torn, extended and slightly bleeding, making Bruce turn away from it and sending nausea through his body. He realizes his mouth is open wide with shock and he closes it with a loud clack.

"I… I'll take care of it, Master Wayne; you can go and busy yourself for some time while I'm trying to… do something about this"

Bruce nods silently, still not wishing to turn around. He walks out of the room and goes to the large kitchen and sits on the chair, leaning on the table heavily. He pants, he realizes, so he gets himself a glass of water and tries to calm himself down.

Joker, Joker, Joker. He just seems to get all Bruce's attention, making Bruce unable to think of anything else. He wonders with a quiet sigh how he is going to treat his new 'guest' once he's awake. He's sure he can't treat him like an old Joker; this man is probably as much affected by the occurrence as any other rape victim would be. Well, Bruce thinks, biting his lower lip thoughtfully, it's the Joker he's dealing with so he hardly would react to _anything_ like a normal appropriate person would. However, he can't not be affected at all by it, either.

So what's he to do now? Organize for the clown some kind of a rehabilitation center? Try to fix him? What exactly did Bruce think about when he brought the clown to his house?

He shakes his head again, displeased with the way of his own thoughts. He just has to wait for the Joker to awake and see how the criminal would behave, and then he'd act being guided by the situation. Yes, yes, he'll do exactly like that.

Well, it's not as if he has a big choice, right?

His gaze is travelling around the kitchen absent-mindedly, not really seeing anything, when something catches his attention. There's actually a pack of cigarettes left on the window-sill. An opened pack of Pall Mall, lying right next to the flowerpot.

Bruce stares at it, feeling lost. When the hell did Alfred start smoking?! Why doesn't he, Bruce, know anything about it?! He's a bit hurt. He thought he knew the old butler pretty well, but the just learnt fact makes him doubt that. If he doesn't know about such a thing like Alfred's smoking, what else can he not know about?

He stands up, heading back to Alfred, determined to make a demand for an answer from the butler. He enters the bathroom quickly, not bothering to knock. He opens his mouth to begin a long tirade, but Alfred cuts him off at once.

"I did my best, sir. You can carry him now to the bed, let him get some sleep in peace, God knows he needs it" Alfred replies, looking extremely tired, and Bruce isn't surprised, after all, he has spend the last two or three hours, stitching and fixing Joker's injuries.

Bruce looks down at the Joker, still lying in the tub, his face displays an utter pain, and Bruce isn't sure whether it is physical or mental.

He bends down and lifts his enemy again, extremely light Joker feels like a small child in Bruce's arms. His head is jumping from side to side as Bruce walks so he lets the Joker's head rest on his shoulder once again. He's suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of another warm body pressed to his, and Bruce stops abruptly, waiting for his fleeting bliss to go away, irritated. It was just so long since he last felt someone so close to him, so now he's subconsciously grasps desperately at the first opportunity of being touched.

The man in his arms stirs all of a sudden.

"_Bat…sy?_" The Joker whispers, and Bruce for some reason feels his heart clench. He says nothing but continue to walk. "_Bru-ce?_"

Bruce stops dead in the mid step. What has he just said?! 'Bruce'?! How does he- how can he possibly know -

With a low whimper Joker blacks out again, his head falling on Bruce shoulder. However, Bruce can't force his body to move.

How long has he known? Why didn't he tell anyone? Or may be he did, Bruce just doesn't know. He pushes these thought in the back of his mind, now he has another things to worry about.

He places the Joker on the bed, covering his exposed body with a thick blanket. He's mesmerized by the Joker's appearance so he just stands there for some time, looking at the sleeping man.

The next moment he's gone through the door without turning back.

After he gave Alfred the knife for a closer examination for the presence of finger-prints, Bruce is waiting for the commissioner Gordon on the roof, standing by the Bat signal. Gordon doesn't make him wait for too long.

Bruce notices immediately that Gordon's looking very nervous, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing at the back door all the time. He also looks… pretty scared of Batman. But Bruce doesn't push, letting Gordon's behavior go uncommented.

"I've found him" Batman says, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable at the policeman's uneasy gaze. At that statement he looks confused, though.

"What? Whom?" Gordon asks him a little confused.

"The Joker. I've found him" Bruce repeats, surprised at Gordon's look of utter confusion.

"What d'you mean 'found'?" Gordon wonders, his voice high for some reason and he frowns.

"I've found him in the deserted shop on the 82d west street." Bruce tells him watching more confusion expressed in Gordon's features. "Some bastard kept him as a sexual toy. He's in awful condition, but I took care of that."

Gordon looks at him incredibly, and Bruce is annoyed by this inadequate reaction to his news. He continues, though "I need to find out everything he knows about the kidnapper before I take him back to Arkham"

Gordon swallows nervously, his Adam apple jumps. He takes of his glassed ant starts rubbing them with his shirt, never lifting his eyes at Batman. His movements are quick and faltering, and Bruce sees the desperate looks Gordon shoots to the door, as if to check whether it hasn't disappeared.

"So you don't have any idea of who he can be?" he half states half questions and then he finally looks Bruce in the eye, his piercing brown eyes on Bruce.

"I just said I didn't!" Batman growls irritably, feeling suspicious at Gordon's behavior "What is the hell wrong with you?!" he snarls and Gordon backs off.

"Please, calm down, Batman, I just… I just don't wanna jeopardize my family's life, I'm so afraid for them after what happened, you know… Please, don't do anything, I'm only worried for my wife and kids and-"

Gordon's rambling, Bruce sees with disbelief. God, what the heck happened to him?

There's absolutely no use in the commissioner right now, so he leaves him alone on the roof without any other word and disappears in the darkness, not seeing relief all over Gordon's face once he's gone.

'_The Great and Horrible Clown Prince of Gotham is a sick whore, who likes being fucked in his little bony ass!'_

'_How do you feel being all alone in the world, knowing that nothing can ever save you from the loneliness?'_

'_I haven't smiled once since you killed her. I think it's only fair for me to do __**this**__'_

_The smell of cigarettes._

'_You're mine now. My __**whore**__'_

_The darkness._

'_I knew you were a fucking whore, nothing more'_

'_you __**little filthy whore**__'_

_Drop. Drop._

'_You made me feel that way. You created my… __**second face**__'_

'_I want you to feel __**everything**__'_

_Pain, blood, cold._

_Drop, drop, drop._

'_How do feel, Joker –'_

'_**Please**__-'_

'_You scum'_

'_The great __**Joker**__ –'_

'_**Please, anything, please –**__'_

'_**Joker'**_

"JOKER! Wake up!"

"_Please, leave me, please, please-"_

"Joker! You're safe now! Wake up!" he hears the voice as if through some barrier, his eyes shut and his face is wet, probably with tears.

"Open your eyes, Joker! Now"

He obeys immediately as he's got used to recently. Do what you are told and may be it will hurt less. But, to his shock, he finds out he _can_ open his eye, so there's no tie on his eyes, and that means –

His vision is blurred and unclear, but he still can recognize two pointed ears in front of him. God, oh god, is he dreaming?

"Bats?" He whispers, afraid of talking and moving, afraid that it might somehow wake him up to find himself bound and gagged in the darkness again. "_Brucey?_" he tries again.

His body aches and it hurts him to speak, but he's used to the pain by now so he doesn't pay attention to it.

There's silence for some time when Joker thinks he really is dreaming and all of that is gonna disappear right now. But then the other man speaks finally, sounding exhausted.

"How do you know my name?" He sighs heavily.

Well, he expected furious Bruce, displeased his secret is revealed but instead he gets tired but calm Bruce.

Joker doesn't answer immediately. He's so happy, for a moment he can't feel anything but bliss. His Bat found him and came to his rescue, he's not gonna be fucked again and tied and being hurt and –

"Joker? You're all right?" Bruce asks him and Joker shakes himself out of his trance.

"I've known for a while now" He struggles to say, but the sentence is too long for his exhausted organism and he coughs violently. Coughing makes his mouth hurt like hell. He feels a warm hand on his back helping him to lift himself a bit. The hand is too close to the large scar on his back and Joker flinches, sudden panic overcomes him. Not long ago some sick sadist touched him just like this, right before spreading his legs wide and–

He twitches and flinches madly as much as his harmed body allows him to, trying to shake the hand off himself.

"Don't touch me! Don't –" He coughs violently, forgetting where he is and who is in front of him. Just, please, don't touch him anymore!

"Joker, it's OK now, it's me!" He hears again. "Can you see me? Do you know who I am?"

He opens his eyes one more time to see more clear sight of Bruce Wayne in Batman's mask in front of him. The panic eases a bit.

"Joker, look at me!" Bruce says and the clown obeys. "You. Are. Safe. I'm not gonna hurt you, you heard me?"

That's Bruce Wayne, the Batman, and he's not gonna take him back to that place. He's not going to hurt him, and Joker wants to believe that.

"What, uh, happened?" He whispers more loudly this time, trying to move his lips as lesser as possible. Though, he doesn't really want to know that.

"You've been locked in the basement of some shop for some time I don't know for sure -"

"Two weeks and a half" Joker whispers, closing his eyes tiredly.

Batman keeps silent, but Joker doesn't see his face to know the expression. And even if he looks at Bruce he won't see anything because of the mask.

_The mask. Masked face._

"Can you… uh…" the Joker stammers, unsure of how to say it. He feels sudden self-consciousness he hasn't felt for quite a while now. He's irritated with that fact, but he continues nevertheless "I mean…" He sighs heavily, lifting his gaze at the Batman's lips. "Can you please take off the mask? It… uh, makes me feel… _uncomfortable_"

Batman freezes and Joker can feel the man's stare on him. Does he ask too much? After all, it's him, Joker, who suffered all that shit, not Batsy. It is Joker, who was forced to change his world view, not the man beside him. To the Batman, he's still the murderous mad monster, as he was used to see him. For Batman, nothing has changed, and he's probably going to take him in Arkham in the nearest future. He winces at the thought. God, he is stupid to think something has changed besides him, isn't he? For fuck's sake, he killed that man's sweetheart and her husband-to-be! For what reason can he expect the Batman to treat him something else now?

Whatever has happened to the Joker doesn't make any difference, does it?

So, he's immensely surprised to see Bruce lift his hand and take of the black mask with pointed ears. He gulps in shock as he sees the billionaire's face this close for the first time, trying to compare this man in front of him and the playboy he saw in tabloids a while ago. The changes go without saying, as Joker notices the dark circles round Bruce's eyes, the sickly shinning eyes, pale skin. He looks exhausted as if he hasn't slept for several days.

Emotions overwhelm him as he constrains himself to whisper "Thank you"

Bruce moves his shoulder silently, not saying anything; his face looks like his mind is somewhere far away from this place. In a brief quick movement, Bruce reaches out and pulls the slithered blanket back on the Joker's shoulders. Bruce himself doesn't seem to even notice what his hands do on their own accord, but the gesture is so… normal and human, almost caring, Joker doesn't know what to feel about it, when a sudden desire hits him, a desire to please Bruce whatever it would take him to.

He watches the young billionaire curiously, trying to mesmerize each feature on his face, as the drowse overcomes him, and he slips to unconsciousness.

Bruce is deep in his own thoughts, so he when he looks at the Joker again, the man is fast asleep already. Bruce takes in his appearance – dark blond curly hair, pale skin, thin lips. The scar line on his left cheek is a bit longer than on the right, this time neatly stitched and irrigated by Alfred. The twisted lines almost reach the Joker's ears, and Bruce stares at them, ugly, ruined, rough skin attracts his gaze for some reason.

The man is sleeping peacefully, his chest rises and falls calmly. He doesn't know about the words on his skin, Bruce thinks with empathy. How will he react once he sees himself in the mirror, or simply is able to look down at his body? Will he freak out? Probably. Who wouldn't, being in his shoes?

Bruce wonders how much the accident changed the Joker. Whether he feels differently now. Whether he now has some phobias. Bruce remembers the moment several minutes ago when the Joker freaked out at being simply touched. Yes, he certainly has an amount of phobias and fears now.

Sighing, Bruce straightens and stretches. He yawns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and heads to the kitchen where Alfred is sitting.

At Bruce appearance, Alfred braces himself up immediately. He coughs uneasily, and looks at Bruce with a hint of irritation.

"With due all respect, sir, you can't keep this man here!" Alfred remarks, his tone full of incomprehensible aggression.

Bruce snorts, not knowing whether to say 'I wasn't going to' or 'Why the hell not?' and trending to the second. He feels a strong desire to argue with Alfred, especially now, annoyed with all butler's inexplicable fits of anger. He also wants to defend the Joker for some god knows what reason.

"And this decision is up to me, thank you very much" Bruce replies icily, as soon as he collects himself, glaring at the butler.

"This man" Alfred growls, pointing an accusing finger in the direction where Joker's sleeping in one of the guest rooms "killed Rachel and -"

"Thanks for mentioning, I've just forgotten about that!" Bruce raises his voice, shocked and angry at Alfred waving that fact in his face. "And he's not the same man anymore!" Bruce pants, then he remembers another thing "Oh, by the way, may be you forgot to tell me, but since when did you start smoking?!" Bruce shouts, fuming, wanting to vent all his tiredness and fury and irritation upon Alfred, glad that he finally has a cause.

Alfred shuts his mouth abruptly with a loud clack of teeth. He stares at Bruce, his expression unreadable, eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean? Sir." He says in neutral tone.

"I mean I've found your cigarettes and I don't remember your telling me about starting to smoke!"

Alfred keeps silent, staring at Bruce and burning a hole with his gaze. Bruce swallows subconsciously.

"You're saying that you've found" Alfred pauses for a second "my cigarettes, right sir?"

Bruce doesn't get Alfred's strange behavior. He sighs wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose, refusing to look at his old butler.

"Yes, Alfred, that's exactly what I'm saying" Bruce mutters. There's silence for some long moments and Bruce finally looks up only to meet Alfred's piercing stare. They look each other in the eye, and then, as if someone pushes a button, Alfred is back to his normal calm self.

He gives Bruce a lopsided smirk and says "I think I forgot to mention that, sir. I'm very sorry that I made you worry. I've been smoking for a while now. Strange, that you haven't noticed earlier"

Bruce is about to start a lecture about the disadvantages and horrible consequences of smoking, especially at the Alfred's age, when they both jump, hearing a heart-rending scream from the Joker's bedroom.

Bruce doesn't even have the time to think when he finds himself running to the door, ready to fight to death with any criminal who dared to attack _his _Joker once again, his blood cold.

He opens the door and rushes into the room.

He stops abruptly at what he sees, his heart clenches. Joker just seems to never stop to astonish him!

--  
Whooof, i'm so exhausted from typing it, god... Please, be merciful to me, and leave a comment ^w^


	4. TwoFace

**Title**: Yellow spots  
**Pairing**: Batman(Bruce)/Joker  
**Rating**: PG (this chap)  
**Words**: 2900  
**Warnings**: slash, violence, sexual content  
**Disclaimer**: don't own anything  
**Summary**: Something happens with the Joker, something that may change his life forever.**  
****A/N**: So i've started another ficcy today because the idea of it choked me and i had to write it to break free =D Well, this is my second fic and English still isn't my first language, so please, in case you find some mistakes (and i'm sure there're a lot of them) have a mercy and point them out in comments. Also, i'd like to say that it's my first NC-17 story ever, i'm still going through the awkwardness of writing it especially in foreign language but i did my my best for you to feel comfortable reading it :3 I usually don't make great plans for my stories but this one i've planned to the very end already 8D  
Please, comments are VERY appreciated =]

Here's new chap! =D The next one will be mainly from the Joker's POV. Please review =D

Chapter 4.

Bruce freezes few steps away from the bed, watching with astonishment as the Joker tosses and flinches and struggle an invisible person, howling as he does, making his newly stitched mouth tear apart once again. Bruce is about to wake him up from his nightmare when he notices suddenly that Joker isn't asleep.

He blinks few times, as he sees the Joker with his eyes wide open trying to throw down something from his body, something only Joker can see. There's an expression of utter horror on his face and Bruce can take his insanity any longer. In one giant step or rather jump he finds himself by the Joker's side, Bruce's arm on the back of the clown's neck, circling in soothing movements, and Bruce is reminded of catching the wild animals the same way.

"Bring the outfit, Alfred" He tells the shocked butler who stands behind him, mouth slightly opened. At these words Alfred snaps out of his shock and disappears from the room quickly.

"Joker!" Bruce calls him loudly enough to hear from the next room, but Joker doesn't seem to have noticed Bruce's presence at all. He twitches, waving his arms and legs weakly, eyes wide with terror at what he sees. He must be having some kind of a waking nightmare, Bruce thinks, as he tries again "Joker! Joker, damn you!"

There're tears forming at the corners of the criminal's eyes, threatening to run down is face. Joker's mouth is bleeding awfully, making him look really mad, as if it is the red lipstick painted on his face.

Lost for any possible actions, Bruce grabs the Joker and leans to his ears, saying firmly but softly "Quit being afraid, Joker. _You are safe now. _I'm with you, I've got you. _I've got you_" He repeats it over and over again, feeling uncomfortable with having the Joker so close to him and seeing his arch nemesis like that – scared and having a break-down.

Too human, too vulnerable. It's too much for Bruce to take right now.

After some long moments, though, Joker seems to have relaxed a bit. Bruce's arms are covered with blood now, and he realizes that the Joker needs another complex of stitches on his mouth. He looks in Joker's piercing green eyes, restraining a sudden desire to reach out and wipe away the clown's tears. He shakes his head, thinking he's probably going crazy here without any normal human relationship if he's that eager to have _any_ physical contact.

He stands up, noticing with the corner of his eye that Joker is watching him, fear in his eyes. He barely opens his mouth to speak but only a whimper comes out. Bruce bends down, trying to understand the words Joker's whispering.

"_Please… don't go_" Joker manages to say, and Bruce lets out a heavy weary sigh, screwing his eyes shut. What is he gonna do now? Babysit this man, who actually destroyed everything Bruce held so dear not less than three months ago? Hold his hand, assuming him that everything's OK, even if both of them know it's not and hardly ever would be. Wouldn't it be easier to just take him to Arkham and let the psychiatrists deal with this man? Yes, that certainly would be easier for everyone.

But Bruce's somehow sure he won't do that. It's not even about his wishes or needs or this sadist case, no, it's not. It's just something in the Joker that attracts Bruce immensely. He's gone through hell, so it wouldn't be a surprise if Joker has changed, reconsidered his point of view. Bruce just _has_ to give him a second chance, right? The Joker's paid his sins, hasn't he? So Bruce will be sure not to turn away, at least for now. He'll try and see if anything can work out.

And what about his attempts to fix everything? He can't give up on that too.

"Ok." He sits on the edge of the bed, right besides the Joker, their bodies touching through the material of blanket. "I'm not going anywhere"

Joker relaxes finally, leaning back on the pillows, but not closing his eyes though, staring at the white wall in front of him. Bruce watches the clown for some long minutes, before asking finally.

"Something's wrong?" Bruce asks him quietly, careful for his voice to sound calm and amiably.

The Joker squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, laborious expression on his face. "No" he whispers weakly. "No, no, I'm fine" he breathes out, blood dripping from his mouth, and Bruce forces himself not to stare.

Bruce snorts loudly. "Yeah, people usually freak out and have nervous break-downs when they are fine." He says with sarcasm, smirking slightly.

Joker glares at him, and the effect wouldn't be lost if he wasn't naked and clean of all his make-up. "And I thought…" he coughs again and red splashes of blood are flying everywhere "that you were not familiar… with the concept of sarcasm"

Bruce stares, incredulous, the meaning of the words slowly downing on him. He's extremely relieved and a tiny bit happy that there _is _actually a person beyond all these insanity and interminable fears. He doesn't realize he's smiling until the Joker points it out "I never… saw you smiling before" He whispers incredulously, and Bruce can't believe he _is_ actually grinning at the Clown Prince of Gotham, having almost normal talk with the man. What was it like before? Joker, running all the time, shouting all sorts of scurrilous things to piss him off, and Batman, always chasing him, burning with rage and guilt. Now, however, they're really _teasing _each other like… normal people?

Alfred enters the room, the outfit in his hands, expression sore.

"Let me do this" Bruce says softly, taking the outfit from Alfred, who eyes him suspiciously before shrugging.

"As you wish, sir" he says amiably "Then, I'm going to check the knife for a presence of the finger-prints now, sir" And he retires from the room again.

Bruce opens the box, fishing a syringe and anesthetic out of it, uncomfortable with the fact that Joker is watching each of his movement. He turns around to face Joker finally, syringe in his hand and Joker glares at him.

"No" He says quietly but firmly and Bruce chafes at his childishness.

"Yes" he scowls and bends down. The Joker presses himself in the mattress as deep as possible. "Look" Bruce says, annoyed, "I said I wouldn't hurt you. And I wouldn't. If you let me do this"

Joker eyes him distrustfully for a long time and when Bruce is about to give in, Joker whispers, his eyes closed. "Ok"

Bruce gives the clown an anesthetic, pricking the needle in both of his cheeks. He waits then for the drug to have an affect, none of them talking. Bruce wonders absent-mindedly what is it like to be under anesthetic since he himself never uses it.

He sees the Joker bites the insides of his cheek more and more times as if tasting them and figures that the drug has had affected the clown finally. He takes a needle, sighing to sooth his trembling hands. Joker's watching him with utter curiosity.

Bruce stitches him up without a word, biting on his lower lip so strongly it hurts him. He holds his face straight, not letting a single emotion show Joker just how much he is nervous inside for some unknown reason. Not that, he hasn't done something like that before, he stitches his own wounds all the time, but doing it to another person, fearing to brush something wrong and hurt him makes Bruce sweat.

He doesn't want to think about how much he enjoys the feeling of Jokers skin in his hands.

He's so ashamed of this fact he's actually afraid of looking the clown in the eye, dreading that he might read Bruce's mind somehow, realize how _sick_ Bruce is if he's enjoying it.

Bruce blinks few times, trying to get rid of these thoughts desperately, but fails. This moment he wishes nothing more than to be done with it as quickly as possible, regretting he didn't let Alfred do this.

He makes final stitches at last, breathing out the air he didn't notice he's been holding. Joker blinks, looking lost, and runs his tongue on the inside of his cheeks, testing Bruce's work.

"Don't try to talk now if you don't want to do this again" Bruce says dryly. "The drug should start to wear off in few minutes"

Their gazes lock for a moment, may be few seconds and may be few minutes, Bruce isn't sure. He stares at the green depths, seeing a myriad of emotions there and not wanting to analyze them. He's sure he sees the gratitude there, and that's enough for him now. He straightens, stretching his arms and letting his muscles relax finally after keeping his body so tense.

He makes his way to the door, willing himself not to turn to glance at the Joker one more time, switching off the lights in the room as he goes. He hears a muffled sound behind him and he's _so glad _he has an opportunity to look at the Joker.

The clown stares at him, his eyebrows lifted, sore expression on his face. He breathes a bit too fast then he's supposed to, and Bruce can't see what's in his eyes through the darkness of the room.

"Can you…" The Joker begins and coughs, but Bruce is somehow sure that's from the clown's uncertainness rather than the pain. "Please, can you… leave the lights on?"

He's barely moving his lips, making the words sound muffled and unclear, but Bruce still hears him and he hears the fear in the Joker's weak voice. He shrugs and nods, _of course he's afraid off the darkness now too_. Bruce turns the lights back on, glancing at the Joker one last time before walking out of the room finally. He leans on the door heavily once he's outside and closes his eyes. God, that's just too hard for him.

Bruce scares himself. For God's sake, he was doing to take the clown to Arkham once he's able to walk himself, but for the last few hours he refused to even consider this as an option. How can he now when he has seen the Joker, truly seen him – the broken sacred man behind all these scars?

But Bruce knows it's not the only reason. Somehow, he still tries to convince himself that he's worried about the others, the city, that he's doing it for _the greater good_.

Bruce also knows that's a _lie_.

He's doing it because it feels incredibly, wonderfully good. For the first time during god knows how much time he's finally feeling useful. As if it's only now he's done something really heroic.

Alfred voice makes him snap out of his trance.

"I've examined the knife, sir" He informs Bruce in his usual dry manner. "Did you touch it, sir?"

"What?" Bruce says, the meaning of the words still don't get in.

"On the knife, Master Wayne, there're your own finger-prints all over it" Alfred explains in such a tone as if addressing to a retarded. "So I ask you now: have you touched it?"

"Oh" Bruce manages. "Yes, yes, I touched it with bare hands when I found it. My mistake" He says, shaking his head, embarrassed as hell. "So, was there anything else?"

"No, sir. I might suppose that the criminal used gloves to avoid leaving traces"

Bruce sighs. Of course, stupid of him to hope that the man who had managed to kidnap the most wanted criminal in Gotham would do such a stupidity as leaving his finger-prints around. Well, Bruce can make mistakes sometimes, even if they are touching the evidence with his bare hands like some inexperienced blockhead.

"I think you should try to have some sleep now, Master Wayne" Alfred says with concern. Bruce nods, only now realizing how much tired he is.

All these criminal stuff can wait, he thinks as he falls on the bed, not even bothering to take off his clothes.

Bruce doesn't' sleep this night. He only falls into some kind of trance for a few minutes with his thought running in his head slowly and a fog swallows him. In the morning he is so tired he doesn't want to even move. Nevertheless, Bruce wills himself to get up in spite if the fact all his body aches from the lack of sleep. After all, he will be able to sleep during one of his meetings today. He's sure Lucius wouldn't mind.

He comes to the penthouse late in the evening and goes straight to the Joker's room, determined to talk with him and be done with that.

He pushes the door open and the light in the room blinds him for a moment. He blinks few times, letting his eyes to adjust to the light and he sees the former – he wants to believe that – criminal lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He looks like a madman locked in his world of nightmare and Bruce shivers slightly at the thought.

No, no, it's nothing like that.

Joker turns to him at the sound of an opening door, his face lightens up immediately and Bruce realizes he must be damn bored to stay in that room all day without any entertainment. He looks a bit better now, Bruce notices as he sees that the sick pallor disappeared and Joker's skin is normal color now, though rather pale nevertheless, but Bruce is sure it's just the clown's natural tome.

He steps closer to the bed, embarrassed to notice he's staggering with tiredness, and the Joker seems to notice it too.

"You know, the sleep hasn't been outlawed yet" the Joker says quietly, still trying to move his lips as less as possible. Bruce snorts at this, deep inside pleased to hear the Joker's witty remarks. After all, they mean that there's a person under all these scars so Bruce has something to aim for. He's to get this person and put him on the surface.

"Yeah, thanks for concern" Bruce brushes the question aside, not wanting to bitch around about his insomnia. Instead he sighs before saying, deadly serious "Joker, we need to talk about what happened. _I _need to know everything about the person who… kidnapped you."

The Joker turns away, staring at the window now but not seeing anything there as his eyes become clouded and unfocused. Then he nods, barely a movement. "Ok" he breathes.

For Bruce it is enough encouragement so he sits down on the edge of the bed and starts his questioning, careful to sound calm and kindly. The Joker still doesn't look at him.

"Tell me everything you remember" Bruce says and sees the Joker swallow nervously. Does he ask too much?

But Joker takes a deep breath and says "He… he broke into my apartment – yes I do have an apartment" he says hearing Bruce let out a surprised sound, meeting Bruce's eyes for the first time before quickly looking away "and he gave me some kind of drug and when I awoke I was in that room, tied to the chair." He pauses and Bruce can see a shiver goes through the clown. "I didn't see anything, my eyes were tied all the time, you know, so here I'm not of a great help, but one thing I noticed even without an opportunity to see." He stops as if he can feel it now, his nostrils moving as he smells something in the air. "There was a smell of cigarettes whenever he was in the room so I figured he was pretty of a smoker. He talked only in a whisper, so I hardly will be able to indicate his voice."

Bruce listens to it with great attention, hoping the Joker has something for Bruce to hang on as a clue. But all he gets is a cigarettes smell. The vision of Alfred is before his eyes for a second and Bruce represses an inappropriate siggle shoving away the thought before even considering it.

"He said… uh, _things_ to me" Joker speaks again, his voice even quieter and more uncertain. "Different things, but he mentioned that he was all alone because I… uh, killed his beloved one in the past and he thought it was only fair for him to do this _stuff _to me. And, he once said that…" He keeps silent for a moment as if wondering whether he should say what's on his mind. "He said that _it was because of me he felt that way. _That _I gave him his __**second face**_. You see?" Joker asks him. "_I now _only one person with _two_ _faces_ who has a good reason for doing all this to me" Joker states, shaking his head slightly.

Bruce stares. No, this can't be, no, no. But he can't deny that it _is _possible. He know that person, no, he _knew_ that person, he was himself at the funerals.

_Harvey Dent._

Review 8D


	5. Lies

**Title**: Yellow spots  
**Pairing**: Batman(Bruce)/Joker  
**Rating**: R (this chap) just for safe  
**Words**: 4150  
**Warnings**: slash, violence, sexual content  
**Disclaimer**: don't own anything  
**Summary**: Something happens with the Joker, something that may change his life forever.**  
****A/N**: So i've started another ficcy today because the idea of it choked me and i had to write it to break free =D Well, this is my second fic and English still isn't my first language, so please, in case you find some mistakes (and i'm sure there're a lot of them) have a mercy and point them out in comments. Also, i'd like to say that it's my first NC-17 story ever, i'm still going through the awkwardness of writing it especially in foreign language but i did my my best for you to feel comfortable reading it :3 I usually don't make great plans for my stories but this one i've planned to the very end already 8D  
Please, comments are VERY appreciated =]

Part 1 - .#cutid1  
Part 2 - .#cutid1  
Part 3 - .  
Part 4 - .#cutid1

**Chapter 5.**

_Harvey Dent._

Joker knew that man; he thinks he knew him very well. May be, only _one _side of Harvey Dent. He couldn't know the other side, but he knew well enough the dark half of the man – cruel, merciless, unstoppable in his vengeance. He very well fits in the character of the mysterious fucking captor. Dent has enough reasons, strength, and enough of lack of his mind to do such a thing to the Joker. It's not a unbelievable thing nowadays, after all, to fake one's death.

And Joker can understand it. But understand don't mean _accept_. It doesn't mean he can leave alone this fucking Two-face after what he'd done.

He figured the sadist's identity as soon as some of his memories began to come back to him, along with the sense of humiliation and never-ending fear. The fear just seems to be his always companion, never letting him go, hidden deep inside of him, clutching his chest with an icy grip. Joker feels annoyed and childish all the time he senses it but there's not much he can do about it.

He's paranoid now. He can't help glancing around the room all the time, never feeling safe, even knowing his Bat is keeping an eye on him. He's afraid of the dark, too, feeling as if someone's watching him from the corner of the room, someone's eyes on him, dreading to fall asleep to give anyone an opportunity to attack him in his sleep. Sometimes, even with all the possible light on, the Joker still feels someone's presence in the room, which is supposed to be empty. God, he _knows himself _that it _is_ empty, but he can't help it, his heart pounding in his ears and his throat going dry so it hurts him to swallow.

He hears whispers. Even when the room is light, he only has to close his eyes and he'd be hearing them again. Cold, tearing his mind apart, they would ring in his ears, his skin turns to goose-flesh, making him let out small shaky breath until the whispers ease a bit. He never understands what exactly they are saying, just deep hollow sounds.

He smells the cigarettes almost every time now. Especially when anyone's in the room, no matter whether it is Bruce or his butler, the smell is strong in his nostrils.

All this weakness just pulls him apart, driving him crazy with his own helplessness. He can't move, so he has to lie in bed all day long, waiting for his body to come back to normal condition. He can't even speak normally! His mouth, lips hurt him all the time, making it damn painful to talk. He feels like some kind of a defective, not being able to live without somebody's help. And as much pleasurable it is for him to have kind Bruce taking care of him, it doesn't help his mood.

Joker suspected there's something, something bad, really _bad_ down his body, on his chest, something that the kidnapper scratched in his skin. He sees it every time in Bruce's eyes when the vigilante is sitting on the edge of the Joker's bed and his eyes just flicker down the clown's chest and stop there for a split second before turning away, sore expression on Bruce's handsome face. The Joker knew it. There _is_ something, he has no doubt now, but he's just too afraid to look down, too afraid at what he might see there. He knows he can't avoid it forever, sometime he'll have to look at it, but now… now he just… can't. Can't force himself, because as much shit as he's already gone through he doesn't want any other bit of it again to break him completely. So he doesn't look down at his body as he lies in his bed.

He doesn't sleep well except the parts where he simply blacks out. He just can't let down his guard, afraid someone would appear in the room at night and put a needle in his neck, so he's always watchful, starting at any sudden sound he hears. He wants to relax, God knows he really does, but he can't get his mind to stop work, can't put all the responsibility on Bruce's shoulders. Deep inside Joker's still dreading of being taken back to Arkham where no one would care about him or give a fuck about whether or not the light is turned on in the room.

He also doesn't want to admit just how much addicted to Bruce's presence he became. Of course, he always was attracted to the Batman, but this… this is different. It was not Batman but _Bruce_, tired but always kind and friendly with him, making Joker feel differently to. With the Batman it was lust, physical attraction of two geniuses, two masterminds, the question of who is to win and who is to fail in another game. But now it is deeper. There're waves of warmth going through his body whenever Bruce gives him his weary smile sitting on the edge of the Joker's bed, and the clown can feel the heat radiating from the billionaire's body. They don't talk much, after all Bruce Wayne is a busy man, so Joker gets vigilante's attention only in the late evening for a few minutes. Few minutes, where he wants to reach out and touch Bruce's cheek just to know how warm skin would feel in his hands. Bruce's eyes are warm when he looks at the Joker and the clown feels dizzy fits of pure happiness at how incredulous Bruce is. How can he look at Joker like that after all the things he took away from the Bat? How can he possibly treat the Joker like that after all?

But Bruce seems to have given the villain the second chance. After Joker himself took a role of a victim Bruce was likely to think it would change everything and cancel all the things Joker has done. And as much as he wanted the Bruce's attention he couldn't deceive himself.

Three days passed since the Joker was placed in this room in the Bruce's house and for that time he feels… normal, not having his usual desire to kill and cause pain and chaos. He's sure that is because he's simply too fucking scared to do any crime because he feels like he's to be punished for that by the same person who's done all of this to him. Like the man's watching his every move and is waiting to punish him for what he does.

But that's not the only reason. He just doesn't want to hurt Bruce anymore. He could hurt Batman for sure, but he can't bring himself to hurt this man, who can barely stand straight because of his insomnia but nevertheless continues to exhaust himself with work and Batman patrolling.

The door opens suddenly, making the Joker start. It's only hour past noon, Bruce can't be home now, so it must be –

Yes, he's right; Alfred the butler steps in the room, closing the door tightly behind himself. He then turns to stare at Joker, not moving and they both are in some kind of a battle, fighting with their glare.

A minute passes in silence until the old man finally says, his electric blue eyes burning a hole in the Joker.

"You can play innocent as long as you want, but you should know that I don't buy any of it" He says icily, glaring at the clown.

Joker feels the irritation growing inside him. So this man actually came in here to threat him?

"Yeah, I got it. You know me like you know your own hand and stupid little I can't hide from all of your wisdom of the old." He says sarcastically, the long sentence hurts his mouth but he doesn't wince, even though he wants to. He just can't show his weakness to that man.

The butler stands in the doorway, his face calm, no single emotion displayed, but Joker's sure there're storm of emotions behind the stone mask.

"You know," Alfred remarks quietly "today Master Wayne is obsessed with the idea of helping you and fixing you." He pauses meaningfully. "He's convinced of the fact that what had happened to you changed you so you're not a psychotic murderer anymore"

Joker swallows nervously, not liking any bit of what the butler's saying. He doesn't want to think about himself this way, not anymore. But Alfred continues.

"But I know better than to think something's really changed. You may not be able to walk on your own now, but as soon as you can, you'll want to avenge. Once you kill one, you'll want to kill more, and there's no ending to this."

He doesn't know what to say to this so he keeps silent, glaring at the old butler. What he's saying... would be very true if he were the old Joker, but for who he is now they are wrong.

"You are wrong" he spats through gritted teeth, fuming with such injustice.

"No, I'm not" comes a calm reply; Alfred's fixing a bow-tie though it's absolutely perfect as is his entire suit. "You'll see yourself very soon. And when it happens, Master Wayne will be very hurt. I guess you know what's it like when all your hopes are crashing on your eyes and you can't do anything about it" the butler's voice very low now, the threatening note appears for the first time during the conversation. "Master Wayne is deeply hurt, even though he wouldn't admit it, but he never overcame the death of his childhood friend, the woman he loved his whole life and the one you killed" He pauses again, stepping closer, and Joker feels a tiny bit of jealousy at his words. "He never moved on, just pretended to, but I know pain and guilt when I see it and I know Master Wayne. He has nobody left now to love or care for, so he's clinging to you just to have another living soul to help and fix. That's just the man he is. He needs someone to love and be loved otherwise he'd pine like he was every day since Rachel's death."

Joker listens to him, enchanted by the words. He doesn't want to believe it, he doesn't, but he also knows it's true.

"So, if you _ever _hurt Master Wayne again –"

"Then what? You'd find me and kick my ass? Kill me for offending little Brucey?" Joker hisses, trying to get any bit of control over the situation. The man just irritates him as hell.

"No" Alfred says very quietly but Joker hears him clearly. "I prefer… mental punishment. So I'd be sure you get what you deserve."

Joker feels shivers run down his spine at the words. Oh God, mental punishment? What does _that_ mean?!

He smells cigarettes suddenly and the fear clutches his chest, making his body go numb as he convinces himself that it's impossible, that butler _can't_ be the one –

"Now think it over" the butler says, sensing his discomfort. "You'd better not do anything… unpleasant now or I'll be sure to… hmm… teach you good manners"

He glares at the man and if glare could kill the butler would be dead ten times already. But he can't figure what to say to that, how to defend himself from these words, so all he can do is shoot murderous looks at Alfred.

He's sure, he'll never tell Bruce about this talk with his butler.

"Now, enjoy yourself" Alfred says dryly and walks through the door, shutting it carefully behind himself, leaving angry fuming Joker glare at the door.

Bruce doesn't come to him that evening and as much as he'd like to believe he was just busy with work or decided to sleep finally, he can't help but suspect that Alfred has something to do with it. Did he talk to Bruce? Persuade him to leave the Joker in Arkham and forget about it? He doesn't want to think so because, God knows, Alfred _can _convince people when he needs to.

He's bored, terribly bored without anything to do or even lay his eyes on. At first he tries to remember different moments of his life, to analyze them but it's not enough. He gets irritated, then angry with Bruce forgetting about him. Doesn't he know what's it like to be in the room all alone all day long?!

May be his anger is driving him to do this, giving him strength because he somehow manages to get up and stand on his feet. And even though he's staggering and stumbling it still feels like a small victory. Winning when the rival is his own body.

He wills himself to move, step by step he goes unsteadily to the bathroom door, holding onto the wall as he does. He's naked and the cool air makes him shiver, his body not used to it being under warm blankets all the time.

He pushes the door open and steps inside, more determined with each step. He sees mirror on the opposite wall, but before coming closer and examine his reflection he hesitates, biting on his lower lip uncertainly.

Is he ready? Hurting himself isn't very good of a tool against boredom. But he has to do it anyway, so why not now? It wouldn't be easier if he does it somewhere in future, will it? He's better look now, see what it is there and be done with tormenting himself with guesses and hints.

He takes one deep breath and steps closer to the big mirror, his gaze locks on the reflection of his scarred chest.

He's so shocked for a moment he doesn't breathe, his entire body numb. He looks at the words on his chest and reads them again and again, hoping against all hope there's some mistake there, that they are not real. This can't be happening, no to him, not after what he's gone through already!

He lifts his hands and touches the scars, the letters which form the awful words. '_Little filthy whore_' He's marked now, marked by this sick piece of shit forever and there's no way for him to get rid of it. There's eternal reminder now on his chest, reminder of what had happened to him and _how he behaved _while he was being fucked brutally by the maniac. How _hard _he was, how his body responded and he couldn't _control_ his reactions.

Joker shrieks with desperation and injustice. He lets out shallow breaths; his right hand begins to shake uncontrollably. God, he will never be able to escape this, it's with him now until the end, these words which he can't, _can't_ get rid of!

His mind is clouded and he's not really sees or feels anything as his hands goes to his chest on their own accord and nail dig into the injured skin very deeply, trying to wipe the words away, make them disappear, clean his body from this filth, from this _evidence _of how _true_ they are. He scratches and tears the skin, opening up the barely healed wounds, making blood drift from them and run down his body. He doesn't stop even as he feels his own flesh under his nails and there's a pool of blood on the floor and his feet are in this blood and his chest is all a bloody mess, and he howls and wails growls with desperation and fury and unfairness, God, why, _oh why –_

He feels it then for the first time in so many days a desire to _kill_, to punish that bastard who dared to do this. He wants to feel that scum's blood on his hands; he wants to be sure the bastard is as much hurt as possible.

He stops when he has no strength left to stand and he leans on the wall, cold stone against his heated body, and he slides down on the icy floor slowly, his legs refusing to hold him anymore, blood on his hands, chest and everywhere around.

And then he cries.

Bruce doesn't want to go home this evening. Really, he'd rather work in his office for the whole night until he's asleep in his chair rather than go to his penthouse to Alfred's cold behavior as if Bruce had done something to offend the butler and he's not fucking telling him what exactly. Bruce is sick and tired from it. From the stranger's point of view Alfred is rather amiable and friendly, but Bruce knows him his entire life to see that all of that is feigned, a mask. He'd like to believe that it can be explained by the Joker's unexpected appearance, but he knows there's something deeper. He sees it by the glances Alfred often shoots at him, some emotions Bruce can't recognize in the butler's eyes, sad and hurt and something else Bruce can't understand but he's sure there wasn't this thing in Alfred's eye before.

_Something must have happened. Something big that made Alfred like that._

But the man just wouldn't tell him. He would smile dryly and make his way past Bruce, not saying a word.

And Bruce would find new and new packs of cigarettes somewhere in the apartment.

It all ended up with Bruce not wanting to come back home today. It's just too much for him; he's too exhausted for Alfred's odd annoying behavior. God, how much tired he is, after all, he still can't get off of his insomnia, the fucking thing killing him more and more with each day he's forced to live through, his body aching and his eyes barely able to focus.

He had to give up on Batman, because in his condition he'd rather kill someone by accident than save.

And he'd give a damn about everything if it wasn't one thing he does care about.

The Joker. The only thing that keeps him coming home for the last three days.

Bruce doesn't want to admit it, but he pins too many hopes on the man. He expects too much from him. Something, the Joker can't give him.

But Bruce is too damn stubborn to give up. He doesn't want to until he is sure there's absolutely nothing he can do.

He has to wait for the Joker to heal up and see the person he became. See the man deep behind the scarred body and try to help him to get out of this shit.

So Bruce sigs heavily, leaning back on the table in his office, screwing his eyes shut.

Well, as long as there's at least one person who needs him he'll be there.

Bruce goes to check on the Joker the moment he steps in the apartment, hoping not to come across Alfred today. He relaxes a bit, realizing it's 2 am already, so the butler must be sleeping by now.

He stops at the criminal's door, uncertain for some reason whether he should knock or not. After all, he doesn't want to disturb his personal space.

He knocks but there's no response. He knocks again. And again.

Joker doesn't respond so Bruce figures the man's asleep. He's about to turn around and head to his own room, something like his sixth sense just makes him go further and check.

He walks in the room slowly, closing the door behind himself, only to see the empty bed with no Joker in sight. He's lost for actions for a moment and he looks around the room, desperate to see something, anything that would help him to find –

He suddenly notices the weak light through the thin slit under the door leading to the bathroom. Bruce is near it by one giant jump, dreading to see what's behind the closed door. Taking one deep sigh and holding his breath, he pushes the door and steps inside.

Bruce freezes in mid step with pure shock at the sight in front of him. There, on the cold stone floor, Joker is lying, naked and bleeding awfully, horrible mess of blood and flesh where used to be his chest. Joker's breathing is shallow and unsteady, he probably blacked out because of the blood loss or may be because of his body wasn't ready for such hard work as walking yet.

Bruce wonders how the hell did Joker manage to get here from the bed by himself, his body is so weak after all.

He realizes only this moment, _why_ there's all this blood everywhere. Joker must have ripped his skin himself, most likely freaking out at the words he saw on his chest. Bruce swallows nervously, feeling guilt for some reason.

_I should have been there for him._

He pushes the thought aside, not wanting to think it over. He has his own life, work to do, business to run, he's not to babysit some clown all day long. But as he tries to convince himself, the guilt only seems to increase.

Bruce bends down and takes the Joker in his arms for the third or forth time now, he's not sure and makes his way to the bathtub, the Joker wraps his arms around Bruce's neck subconsciously, his hand, covered with blood rests on the back of Bruce's neck.

He places Joker in the tub and switches the water on, spraying it all over the man's body, cleaning it from the dried blood. The Joker's face twitches with pain and he lets out a whimper, suddenly coming to consciousness for a moment, his eyes flicker to Bruce's before he blacks out again. Bruce lets out a breath he didn't notice he was holding.

As soon as he's done with washing the Joker, he lifts the man again, purposely not looking at him lower his waist, forcing himself not to stare. He heads to the bedroom again and puts the Joker on the bed carefully, trying his best not to brush any of his wounds and hurt him.

Bruce leaves the room and comes back in a minute, antiseptic in his hand to find the Joker awoken and under the blankets, covering himself almost to the ears. Bruce stops dead, staring at him, not knowing what to do or say. Joker's eyeing him, hurt expression on his face and Bruce swallows.

"You weren't here" Joker says so quietly Bruce almost misses it, but he doesn't. The man's tone sounds a bit accusing, and Bruce can't blame clown for it as much as he wants to. "Why didn't you come?"

"I'm sorry" Bruce says softly and almost as much quietly. "I… I was busy" He lies. He's a lousy liar he knows that and Joker seems to know too. He wasn't busy, he just didn't want to come. He was… he _still is_ scared by his reactions to another human being in his house, he fells wild and savage not being able to take another man's presence appropriately as if he doesn't know how to communicate with people anymore, not used to anyone besides Alfred. It's abnormal that he's so attached to the murderer of Rachel and another thousand of people just because the Joker has changed a bit, is it?

"That's a lie" Joker states simply before hissing with pain as Bruce rubs his skin with the antiseptic. "You can't lie to me, you know." He says, his eyes closed and Bruce's sure he's fighting tears.

"I'm sorry" he repeats, looking the Joker in the eyes, still seeing painthere. "I'll come more often if that is you want"

Joker inhales slowly, screwing his eyes shut. With his eyes still closed, he says "I smell the cigarettes. Right now, I can smell them" his voice is shallow and broken, his chest rising and falling unsteadily. Before he can stop himself, Bruce inhales through his nostrils, trying to smell the cigarettes. He doesn't feel anything and it's probably written on his face because Joker shrinks even more, turning away from Bruce.

"Joker" Bruce calls softly waiting for the man to face him. "Joker, listen to me. As long as you're here with me watching for you, you have nothing to be afraid of. _Nothing_, do you get it?"

The man blinks few times, hurt more evident now in his eyes and Bruce wants suddenly more than anything to wipe that pain away. A wave of pure hatred goes through his body at the though of a man who put that hurt in the Joker's eyes. The hatred for the Harvey Dent who'd done all that.

_Nothing to be afraid of_

"And you're such a lousy liar, Bruce Wayne" Joker whispers.

Please, comment guys, i need to know what you think about all this crazy stuff =D


	6. Dreams and Nightmares

Hello everyone =D The new chapter's here aand i also started naming them.  
Oh and i still don't have a beta - so who's interested, please, contact me :)  
**  
****Title**: Yellow spots  
**Pairing**: Batman(Bruce)/Joker  
**Rating**: NC-17 for grafic sex and language  
**Words**: 3050  
**Warnings**: slash, violence, sexual content  
**Disclaimer**: don't own anything  
**Summary**: Something happens with the Joker, something that may change his life forever.**  
** **A/N**: So i've started another ficcy today because the idea of it choked me and i had to write it to break free =D Well, this is my second fic and English still isn't my first language, so please, in case you find some mistakes (and i'm sure there're a lot of them) have a mercy and point them out in comments. Also, i'd like to say that it's my first NC-17 story ever, i'm still going through the awkwardness of writing it especially in foreign language but i did my my best for you to feel comfortable reading it :3 I usually don't make great plans for my stories but this one i've planned to the very end already 8D  
Please, comments are VERY appreciated =]

**Chapter 6.**

**Changes.**

Joker steps into the kitchen for the first time, moving unsteadily because his body is still weak. He looks around the large room and sees the huge windows letting in all the light from the outside.

He leans on the counter, breathing heavily because it's still too much of moving for him. His knees are shaking with exertion and he absent-mindedly pulls up the slithered down jeans Bruce gave him even though they are too big for him as is the shirt.

Everything is quiet around him, _too _quiet, and there's some uneasy disturbing feeling in the air, _something is wrong _–

He turns around sharply and sees Bruce in the doorway; apparently just from another party judging by the expensive tuxedo he's wearing. There's something in the Bruce's expression, his eyes, or his lips – something scary, something _that isn't supposed to be there, _something bad.

"Hello _Jack_" Bruce says with a smug smirk and his voice is ringing in the Joker's head. He gasps.

"Wha- What did you- How did you-" He stammers, shocked at hearing the name he considered to be lost long time ago. He himself made sure no one would be able to find out, he buried all of his previous persona deep down, so no one can know, so how the hell did Bruce –

"What? Are you afraid of me?" Bruce purrs, stepping closer to the Joker, making him back away automatically. There's an awful smirk on the billionaire's face and that gleam in his darkened eyes that make Joker wince. "You can't be serious! It is you, after all, who's been lusting after me for God only knows how much time, isn't it, huh?" Bruce hisses, his face now only inches away from the Joker's.

Joker pants, too afraid, too excited, too ashamed, all these feelings mixing inside of him. Bruce leans closer to him, his lips almost touching the clown's earlobe. Joker feels the sparks of arousal at the almost-touch.

"Come on, Jackie boy, I know you want it" Bruce whispers in his ear, hot breath against his skin makes Joker squirm. He finds himself pinned between Bruce's body and the wall somehow, though he clearly remembers he was standing by the counter few minutes ago. Bruce's one hand grabs both of the Joker's wrists in a death grip and pins them to the wall above the clown's head while the other hand slides down, slowly, until it reaches an obvious bulge in Joker's jeans. "You want it, you enjoy it, you _slut_" Bruce whispers in his ear, his large palm covers Joker's erection and pats it slightly, earning a small moan from the quivering man.

It turns him on immensely, even though he doesn't like any bit of the bondage part he has to play nor the humiliating things Bruce's saying to him, but the fact it is _Bruce, Batman _doing this to him arouses him momentarily. He feels the man's hand make its way under the Joker's underwear and grab his cock, icy cold palm against the hot hard flesh makes him let out the last air left in his lungs. He moans louder this time as the hand in his pants begins to jerk him off. Bruce's lips are on his neck suddenly as Bruce bites deep on his soft skin, hard enough to draw blood there. The billionaire's hand is stroking his rock hard cock, sending waves of incredible pleasure through him. He lets out a whimper through his barely parted lips, feeling Bruce placing wet aggressive kisses down his neck and going down to his collarbone, then to his chest, tearing apart his shirt in process. There're sharp sounds of buttons flying around and hitting the floor, bouncing in all possible directions.

Joker moans and groans, shuddering and trembling against Bruce. The vigilante bites on the smaller man's nipple hard, sucking it, circling it with his tongue, the hand stroking Joker's cock all the while.

"You scum, you horny little slut" Bruce repeats over and over again, his voice muffled against the clown's chest as Bruce licks the scarred skin, leaving the wet trails here and there. The Joker is so hard it hurts him, the desire to be touched is unbearable and he rushes his hips forward, desperate to get any friction.

"Please" he moans quietly, the similarity of the situation makes him wince. Just like that it was with his captor what seems like an eternity ago. The hand on his cock withdraws.

"Please what?" Bruce sing songs, evil smirk on his face as he back away, looking at the Joker up and down.

"Please, touch me" he begs, the pre-cum dripping from his cock, making the material wet. "_Please, Bruce_"

"Aw, our Jackie boy is begging to be fucked again, isn't he?" Bruce jeers, his cold hand roaming all over the Joker's body, the other holding his wrists again. "Aren't you a slut after that, hmm? You so like to be insulted and humiliated –"

"No" the Joker breathes, barely able to stand on his weak knees, trembling with desire. "I don't like it, I don't, I just –"

"Then, maybe I should go away?" Bruce suggests, slowly stepping back, his steps noiseless.

"_NO!_" the clown cries, aware of how pathetic he is. "Please, just let me… _let me come_"

"You come only when I tell you to" he hears and then there's a myriad of sensations as Bruce slips his finger inside him, moving it inside, but Joker doesn't feel pain, only pleasure, such mind-blowing pleasure that he can't keep silent.

"_Bruce… oh Bruce, please_" He pants, one hand still jerking him off while the other is now fingering him. He feels like he's gonna explode. "_Please, B- Bruce… please_"

"I am not Bruce" the man drawls, looking Joker in the eyes, and the clown can see the black depths instead Bruce's hazel warm eyes.

He doesn't have time to think over the words he hears.

"You're nothing more than a filthy slut" Bruce snaps, repulsion in his voice and there're two fingers now in his ass, but Joker can't take it any longer.

"Bruce_, Bruce, please…"_

"_I'm __**not **__Bruce"_

"Joker!"

"_Please_"

"JOKER!"

He wakes up with a start, cold sweat covering his body, erection obvious even under the blanket. Bruce is sitting on his bed, worried, look of concern in his eyes, his hand on the clown's shoulder, shaking it slightly. Something wet runs down his right cheek and Joker blinks few times, realizing with embarrassment he's crying.

"I wasn't asleep and I heard your screaming, so…" Bruce mumbles, his voice trailing off.

"So what?" Joker snaps, burning with shame and wondering whether or not Brice had noticed his arousal. "You just couldn't stay away without playing a hero, could you?!"

He doesn't know what induces him to vent his fury and annoyance upon Bruce, he doesn't think about it. But he sees Bruce's eyes harden.

"Well, excuse me, I should've lie in bed and listen to your wails! Sorry for caring about you!" Bruce shots back, fuming, his eyes expressing all the injustice of being blamed for doing a good thing, a tiny hint of hurt in his voice and that only increases Joker's rage. He's just so fucking tired of being like this, helpless and vulnerable, at someone's mercy.

This can't go on like that.

"Oh no, you didn't care - you simply couldn't leave me alone, no, no! You needed to see me like this, to feel you power over me, to think that poor little Joker is like a puppy you sheltered so you can fix me until I fit your idealistic form!"

His erection has withered already and he can look at things more clear-headed now. He regrets his words almost immediately as he sees Bruce stand up, burning with rage and fury. He stays like that, breathing heavily and looking somewhere past Joker, probably thinking over the clown's words. His expression changes to simple hurt and… disappointment.

Bruce closes his eyes, sighing and rubbing his nose wearily.

"You're right, Joker, stupid of me to hope that… anything has changed." Bruce murmurs, his expression as if a he's a man who had been working hard for a long time to get salary only to find he's been deceived and there's no such one. Bruce makes his way to the door, not looking back once and walks out of the room, shutting the door tightly.

Oh shit, fuck, fucking shit! God, he's sick of it, he's sick of all that cheap drama, his position, he can't do this anymore!

This can't go on like that.

_He _can't go on like that.

It's like being locked in a box with his own fears that torture him to no end. He needs to get out of it, to breathe in some fresh air, to put these two weeks he spent in the dark room somewhere in the farthest closet of his mind and lock it there. Otherwise it would swallow him whole.

It would swallow him if he stays in that room for any longer.

He needs to move on from this and try to go back to his usual self. He's already got back his killing desire, so that's a start.

But most of all, Joker needs to find a sick bastard and kill him. But before he would torture him and make _him _feel everything.

He just doesn't know where to start.

Joker sits on the bed and struggles to stand up. He puts on the clothes Bruce brought to him few hours ago, knowing he would want to get up, and Joker is immediately reminded of his dream or better to say, his nightmare.

He doesn't want to think about it because it makes him embarrassed as hell and burn with shame at getting hard in spite of the words Bruce was telling him. Or it wasn't Bruce? Whatever, just Bruce or Bruce embodying the sick captor, he should not have turned on at that. But he has.

He staggers to the door, rejoicing at Bruce's unwarranted trustfulness that led him to leave the Joker in completely unguarded room. He pushes the door slightly, looking out to see whether there's the butler somewhere around. Bruce must have left to his office by now, so there's only him and Alfred the butler.

He smirks. Bruce made it too easy for him.

He knows he can't kill the butler because it would break Bruce completely and probably break Batman too, and he can't risk that. He's already hurt Bruce enough, and the disturbing feeling just doesn't let Joker to do it again. He doesn't want to analyze the feeling; it's easier to just do whatever his senses tells him to.

He slinks to the kitchen, turning around every thirty seconds, not wanting to be found by the old man, because even though he doesn't want to admit it, he's afraid of the man. But who wouldn't after hearing all this shit about mental punishment?!

Joker collects the kitchen knives carefully and places them in his jeans pocket, trying to have as much as possible. Satisfied with the result, he quietly makes his way out of the room where he guesses the exit should be. He can't of course leave through the main entrance, so he tries to find another one, less noticeable.

He's surprised at how easy it turned out to be. He walks through the door outside, breathing in the air hungrily. The smells, the sounds just make his head explode, not used to so much information at once. He's overwhelmed by these feeling, something not distant to freedom, real freedom and God damn him if he was gonna loose it for the sake of anybody. He inhales again and again, it was so long, so fucking long since he just breathed the air and enjoyed the simple action as much as he does now. He licks his lips, biting on the lower lip, considering the way he's now to go. The wind blows through his hair, making it harder for him to concentrate and he slowly begins to walk forward, away from the Wayne place as far as possible. He goes more steadily with each step as if being outside itself gives him strength.

He doesn't know where he goes. He certainly can't – _doesn't want to_ – go to his apartment where he'd been… kidnapped. The word feels wrong and ridiculous on his tongue, not fitting in.

Stolen. Not exactly a proper word but it's the first he's come up with.

He's smirking as he goes through the empty alley, feeling fear but not letting it overcome him.

First of all, he needs his make-up.

Bruce can't concentrate on his work no matter how hard he tries. He ends up throwing all his papers on the floor and punching his table irritably. Bruce leans back in his chair, defeated, his body aches and he feels like shrinking into a ball and crying. He buries his face in his hands and his fingers press his closed eyes until he see stars.

Joker was right, absolutely right. And so was Alfred from the very beginning. He was just stupid to hope that… to hope for the better, because it can't be good whenever it concerns the Joker. Bruce is just a fool.

What did he expect? That Joker would suddenly become normal sane person who forgot how to kill and they would live happily ever after? Bruce screws his eyes shut. Yes, that was exactly what he hoped for.

He wants to cry at the thought that all his hopes crashed into nothing and the Joker is who he is, _the psychopathic mass murderer_, and he can't do anything about it, but he wanted, God, oh how he wanted to believe -

All this situation with suddenly back from dead Harvey Dent who most likely turned out to be a sick violator and Bruce doesn't want to believe it, doesn't want to sink in this world of crimes and investigations again.

All he wants and needs is just some sleep.

Please, God, oh please.

He doesn't notice himself lean his forehead against the cold wood of his table, closing his eyes and hearing his pulse in his temples, until he hears a voice from the door.

"Do you need a pillow, sir? I'm sure I can manage that"

The voice is high-pitched and girlish, and Bruce is so surprised to hear female voice in his office that it drives him to lift his head and look at his visitor.

There's a petite red-headed woman standing by the door, load of papers and folds in her hands. She looks at him with amused expression on her face, her blue eyes staring at him her lips pressed into a thin line. She looks about twenty five, not older.

He doesn't know this woman but he somehow feels he's already seen her somewhere. He frowns, calculating, but fails. He asks her then politely:

"Excuse me, who are you?"

The woman looks terribly insulted and he'd be ashamed if he cared. But he's too tired now to deal with it.

"Actually, I work here as your secretary for three months already. Sir" She says with indignation, glaring at Bruce, and now he is ashamed.

How could that be he hasn't notice the same woman who's working for him for three months now, seeing her face everyday?

He'd like to blame it on his insomnia.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry" Bruce tries to apologize but fails miserably. He can't even remember her name. He looks at her with plea.

"Molly Lewis" she answers on his unspoken question and her face softens, seeing he really is sincere.

"Yes, Molly, thank you, I would love to have a pillow, if you can manage" He says, putting his head on the table again and from the corner of his mind he hears as if through the curtain the sounds of her heels against the floor.

He's fast asleep when Molly Lewis returns with a large pillow and a blanket in her hands.

"I want _you_ to know that I'm gonna find _ea_ch_ one _of you until I have some… uh, _way_ to Harvey Dent" Joker sing songs, smirking, his knife in the Maroni's man's mouth and he feels powerful and strong for the first time for God knows how many days, weeks. He's back, almost his entire self is back, leaving no space his fears and panic. It's like being addicted to the drug and not being able to use it for a while and when you finally get it the drug feels twice incredible. He knows he'll kill this guy know, he needs it, he needs it so much his hands are trembling with desire. He bounces on his feet with mirth, licking his lips and grinning like crazy as he sees the man's terrified face. "I wan_t_ you to get the _me_ssage to your… uh, _people_ that I won't stop until I have Dent on his… hmm, knee_s_"

And he cuts the man's mouth from ear to ear before stabbing him with his knife over and over again until the guy's dead. He kills him, smearing blood all over his hands, feeling euphoria swallow him whole, the killing finally puts the last lost part of him to its place because this, this is who he is and no matter how hard Bruce would want to fix him, this is part of Joker, without it, he's not himself.

He dances around the body, blood all over the Joker's face and hands and he tells himself he's not afraid anymore.

He tells himself he doesn't miss Bruce, his sitting on the edge of the clown's bed, telling the Joker about his work day and the clown would just listen.

He tells himself he doesn't miss those moments.

And he almost, _almost_ believes it.

"Oopsies" He exclaims, stopping abruptly. "Now, how am I gonna make him deliver the message, hmm?" He kicks the body several times, humming some song and not really remembering the lyrics. "Well, I believe this itself is great of a message"

And before he retires he leaves a Joker card there with some words on it.

---  
Please, comment, i'm worrying sick about your opinions, so please be nice :)


	7. Going down

**Chapter 7.**

Bruce gives up on his attempts to sleep because he doesn't want to lose any more time in vain when he can spend it with use.

He does more and more work Lucius gives him, completely burying himself in papers and documents. Sometimes, while he types like crazy and his hands just seem to move on their own accord. He even succeeds in forgetting the man, the murderer who he let run away because of his credulity. He would bite on his lip, hard and painful, feeling the lump in his throat every time he thinks about the Joker, every time like he falls on the ground from the sky, painfully, over and over again.

God, how could he be so stupid? He was dealing with the Joker for fuck's sake. How could he let his guard down to allow the Joker to escape? Bruce is now very responsible for each life the clown takes away, for each person the madman hurts, for each tear that runs down the cheek of a child the Joker somehow damaged. Because this is completely Bruce's fault. He let himself be driven by his own emotions and wishes, and where did it lead him?

Bruce closes his laptop roughly, hearing a small crack, but not caring enough, too furious with himself, with Joker, with Harvey fucking Dent and this whole fucked up situation.

What was he hoping for? For the Joker to become a sane, normal man all of a sudden? For the clown to feel guilt for the things he had done? Bruce growls, realizing deep down that is exactly what he had hoped for.

He sighs, leaning on the large wall-sized window he has in his office which gives a wonderful sight of the whole city beneath him. He presses his forehead to the cold glass, closing his eyes tiredly, and stands motionless for some time.

There's downpour outside, and Bruce feels the vibration of the glass under the heavy raindrops hitting the window. He presses his palm to the glass, his skin hot for some reason, and he draws some lines absent-mindedly on the steamed up window.

Bruce watches the city beneath him being swallowed by the rain, making it hard to see through the heavy grey fog. The sky is so dark Bruce almost thinks it is night already, but he knows only an hour or so passed since he last checked the time. It must be 3-something pm, now, but Bruce wants desperately this day to end already.

He looks with astonishment at the part where his hand was drawing on its own and he can read the word 'Joker' written on the steamed glass. He turns around sharply, wiping the name away, not wanting to think about the man.

He begins to pace around his office, myriad of emotions storming inside of him, emotions that are too much for him to take, he doesn't want them, doesn't want to feel them, any of them, he doesn't want to feel _anything_ –

He can feel fear and rage and desperation, so much desperation, he doesn't know how to hide from it, it tears him apart and he stops dead in middle-step, cursing loudly and screwing his eyes shut until he sees stars. God, _God_, where did the **fear** come from?!

He stops, his face covered with his hands and he pants, chest rising and falling unsteadily. The world's spinning around him and he wonders bitterly, _when did it all go wrong?_ When did he bring himself to that point? His chest is tight and there's a lump in his throat. He swallows with a great effort, calming himself from causeless emotional attack.

He _so _needs sleep.

There's soft knock on the door and Molly Lewis enters the room, files in her hands. She looks at him with concern and Bruce feels sick.

"Are you alright, Mr. Wayne?" she asks him softly and Bruce nods. He probably looks like a mess, if his appearance causes questions. He swallows again, turning away from the red-headed secretary. He's sick of her attempts to flirt with him. It's not her, she's really attractive, and even hot, really, and Bruce would flirt back any other time, but not now, not when he's like _this…_

She watches him, but even if she sees his lying she lets it go, not asking any more questions, and leaves, and Bruce feels great gratitude to her for that.

He makes his way back to the chair and opens his laptop once again. There's only one way to lock himself from the world – do his work, so he sits back and puts a laptop on his knees. Lucius is doing all the research about Harvey Dent, so Bruce doesn't have to think about it, at least for now. All he has to do is to wait for the results.

The Joker stands by the street lamp, leaning his back on its post, heavy raindrops hitting his body, his head, washing away the green from his hair, washing the make-up from his face.

He is paranoid. He can't force himself to stay in his apartment anymore. Of course, he changed the place after… the incident and made sure _nobody _knew about its whereabouts, killing his realtor afterwards, but he can't, fucking can't stay there alone. He would start from any single noise outside, whether it is wind or creak of the door, his heart would pound painfully in his chest and his throat would get tight, his palms wet.

He would smell the cigarettes.

He would hear whispers all the time, and the world would spin around him.

Fear would swallow him whole.

Joker would rather stay outside in the rain than be alone in his apartment, feeling like someone's watching him, even when all the lights are on.

He's furious, so furious and angry with himself that he would fall through and become a mess like that after being raped. What the hell is wrong with him?! He's not the only one in the world who was raped or even beaten but it doesn't give him a right to be a sniveler like that!

It doesn't give him a right to shiver at every simple noise! It certainly doesn't give him a right to imagine shit like hearing things he _can't hear_, so, again, _**what the fuck is wrong with him?!**_

The cold rain all over his body, he feels lost as never before, not knowing any way of solving the problem, of getting out of this situation. He screws his eyes shut, listening to the raindrops hitting the ground with a loud noise. Everything's dark around him, so he's sure to stay under the lamp, the only light in the street.

He's so tired and angry and lost and all the other things he's not use to feeling. The images keep flying in front of his eyes, the images of Batman, Bruce, fragments of his dreams, Harvey Dent…. He growls with rage, these sensations, images tearing him apart, cutting him to shreds, turning him inside out. He can't do anything; he can only feel helpless, defenseless in front of his own dreads, trapped in the box of his fears.

His heart begins to pound in his chest and his pulse quickens as he thinks of Bruce fucking Wayne, not Batman, but the man behind the mask of playboy billionaire, and he feels his soul tearing apart in two persons, each one screaming at another, making his head spin. Joker howls, panting, as he feels the desire, the unconquerable wish to see Bruce and talk to him, and _tell him _about all the shit that is happening to him, to say it finally to _anybody_ because he can't, can't keep it to himself anymore, he needs to say it and set this free.

He slowly slides down, now sitting with his knees by his chest, and he wraps his arms around his knees, curling himself in a defensive position, his eyes still closed and his heart beating in his ears. He lets out shaky, shallow breathes through his barely parted lips and something inside him trembles and shivers with tension, right inside of his chest. The rain never stops and he can't see a thing through the wall of water around him.

He lifts his head, facing the sky and letting the rain to wash his face. He doesn't like rain. It reveals his face behind the make-up. It reveals the true city he lives in. It reveals too much, too much truth he doesn't want to accept. But there're moments like that when he doesn't want to deceive himself anymore. So he lets the water run down his face and take all the make-up with it.

A sound of a thunder makes him let out a sigh of astonishment. He wonders what Bruce is doing now, in this late hour in the night. Probably can't fall asleep, lying in his large bed and listening to the rain outside. Or maybe sits in the kitchen, buried in his work, typing in his laptop furiously, his mind somewhere far away. Joker thinks about the man and in that moment he wishes nothing more to be in the lighted room with Bruce sitting on the edge of his bed.

Another sound of a thunder makes him snap out of his thoughts and his heart is racing again, the air around him seems to chill, and Joker looks around nervously, biting his lower lip slightly.

The next moment Joker's teeth clatter against one another, the hair on his arms standing up with goose bumps, hands and legs numb from the sudden cold in the air, as he sees or thinks he sees a black mist of shadows dancing across the street through the wall of rain. He stills, not daring to move, and shadows shift.

Joker watches, horrified, as the mist of shadows and lines moves around him, around the street, too fast for his eyes to follow. In one quick movement he reaches to his inside pocket and grabs a knife, a thought in the back of his mind telling him, it won't be of a great use.

There're whispers around and in his head, but Joker can't recognize the words no matter how much he tries. Everything seems to freeze, everything except for the dark shadows, and suddenly Joker feels like crying. He shudders, looking around each second, trying desperately to see anything through the rain and darkness, his limbs numb with horror and cold, his heart beating so fast it's as if it's about to explode.

There's a chuckle against his right ear, and the Joker's hair stand up and his guts leap, and he turns his head to the right so quickly he could get a dislocation but there's no one near him. He pulls his legs closer to his chest, arms wrapping tightly around them. He bites his lip harder as it starts to tremble. He squeezes the knife in his right hand so tight, his knuckles go white.

His breath catches up in his throat and he screws his eyes shut, not wanting to see it, to hear it, to feel it. He wants to will himself to calm down. To will all these things to disappear. He wants to cry for help but the absurdity of the thought hits him, so he keeps his mouth shut, his chest hurting, everything shaking inside him.

More whispering, taunting and threatening. More shadows, dancing and shaping around him, coming closer, circling him.

He's shivering. Cold.

So fucking cold.

His eyes sting and he screws them shut even tighter, willing this to stop, willing this to disappear, everything's spinning around him, and his body explodes with sudden pain, cutting him to shreds. He gives in to his fear and desperation, and he cries out loud and whimpers, he can't do this, he can't do this, he can't be strong anymore, he can't, _he can't, he can't, he can't _–

The next moment it all goes black and he slips into unconsciousness.

It's 7 in the morning and Bruce is eating the sandwich Alfred made for him, when he suddenly feels something wrong with it. He grimaces as he fishes the tomato from the sandwich with two fingers and puts it onto the paper napkin.

What muck. He never liked it. What is it doing in his sandwich?

"Alfred!" he calls loudly, trying to outvoice the TV with news running on the fifth channel. The butler doesn't make him to wait long, appearing in the kitchen at once.

"Sir?"

"Alfred, why did you put it here?" Bruce asks him, motioning to the tomato, the childishness of the whole problem goes unnoticed.

Alfred stares at him, his face unreadable and his whole body goes tense immediately.

"I…" He pauses uncertainly, hesitation evident in his voice. "Didn't you… uh, asked me to, sir?" he mumbles, glaring at Bruce, as if wanting to burn a hole with his glare. Bruce presses his back into the chair, a bit apprehensively.

"No," he says cautiously. "No, Alfred, I didn't."

Alfred glares at him for some long moments, before finally stepping forward and carefully taking the tomato away.

"My mistake, then, sir," he says flatly.

Bruce frowns slightly, noticing once again that Alfred doesn't call him by his name anymore, not 'Master Wayne', especially 'Bruce', just 'sir'. The fact makes him uneasy.

Alfred turns on his heels and walks away before Bruce has an opportunity to say something about their relationship.

He's about to stand up and head for the door, when the word 'Joker' from the TV catches his attention. In one quick moment Bruce is in front of the TV, making the sound as loud as possible. There's a news program and Bruce listens attentively, holding his breath.

"One of the most wanted criminals," the speaker is saying, "known as the 'Joker' was found this morning unconscious on 52nd west street by police. The mass murderer was lying unconscious by the road side. No damage was found. And I remind, the 'Joker' escaped the Arkham Asylum prison for mentally invalid patients three and a half weeks ago. Now the criminal will be passed to the court for further expertise."

Bruce freezes in front of TV screen, too shocked to move. _The Joker was found._ It means they would now put him back in Arkham.

The thought makes Bruce react not quite the way he expected himself to.

On the one hand, Bruce is immensely relieved that he's now free of worrying all the time about the people Joker kills, and not being able to do anything about it. The Joker is caught; Bruce can quit feeling guilt. The clown will soon be placed in Arkham, where he won't be able to do any more harm.

That is what Bruce should be feeling.

But he's not.

Instead, he feels like something very important was taken away from him, and Bruce feels extremely sad about it, about letting it go, his heart screaming for it to be given back. Bruce growls with annoyance as the thought of what he's about to do now appears and he tries desperately to shove it away. He can't risk his name, his work, he can't risk so much for one small man. He can't go against the law for the psychotic mass murderer, now can he?

Bruce swallows the bile he feels in his throat and closes his eyes for a moment; his wishes can't be understood even by himself.

God, why is he feeling that way? What is he to do now?

He certainly shouldn't do what's on his mind now.

Yeah, he certainly shouldn't.

But he will.


	8. Am i dead?

**Chapter 8. **

Bruce finds himself in a room, an empty room, and there's no sound to hear. He looks around, but it is completely empty and dark. Bruce doesn't know how he can see through the darkness, but he can. The room is tiny, making him feel like he's trapped in a box, making him feel small and insignificant. He glances around over his shoulder as sudden panic overwhelms him.

He doesn't know how he got here, or why he's here. He just… found himself here. He's fully dressed; even his tie is bound tightly around his neck.

He looks around again and again, trying to see a door, a window, _anything_, but there're only empty walls around and not a single object in the room. His heart is beating fast inside his chest, so fast it hurts him, and his breathing is shallow.

Bruce looks up to where the ceiling is supposed to be, but he sees none. There is nothing above him but the infinite darkness stretching high above to the sky, and Bruce can't see the end of it. The darkness around him swallows him whole, sucks the life out of him, makes him shudder and tremble with tension and fear. He swallows past the cotton he feels in his throat, not wanting to let this thing get him, willing his heart to beat slower.

He gasps and his heart stops completely before remembering how to beat again as he sees small lines of yellow golden light appear in the air, twisting and shaping, dancing and shimmering all shades of gold, giving some light to the room. Bruce watches, mesmerized, as more and more shining lines come out of nowhere, and he wants to reach out and touch one of them. Their soft gleaming wants to be touched.

"Am I dead?"

He suddenly hears the quiet, weak voice, so familiar he feels an ache in his chest. He knows that voice, knows it well enough to recognize it in a million others, and Bruce turns around sharply to see the source of it.

Rachel is there, right behind him, thick, long, black blanket covering her body as she holds it on her shoulders. She looks at him, her eyes half-closed and vacant, her long hair loosened. Bruce stares, wide-eyed, his mouth opened slightly, as he keeps telling himself, _this can't be, this can't be_. There're are gleams of gold dancing on her face, making odd shadows, but Rachel just stands there, staring at him, her gaze empty.

Bruce's chest is tight and there's a lump in his throat. He lets out small shaky breaths; his guts leap and the sight in front of him turning him inside out. His lip begins to tremble and he bites it hard, feeling the metallic taste of blood in his mouth almost immediately. Everything inside him is shaking with the mix of desperation, grief, and fear, and his eyes sting.

"Am I dead?" Rachel whispers, staring at some point behind Bruce she's not really seeing. "Am I dead? Am I dead?" she repeats like a mantra, her voice small and weak, shadows dancing on her face.

Bruce grimaces at the words, clenching his teeth so hard they creak. His lips are now trembling harder. He screws his eyes shut tightly and takes one deep breath.

"No." His voice is hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken for days. He feels his heart pounding in his ears painfully. "No. No, no, no, _no! God, Rachel, _**no!**"

Her gaze shifts to him, her head cocked to the side.

"I am dead," she now states, convinced, and a small smile twists her lips. "I _am_ dead," she repeats. The smile grows bigger, and a sparkle of life flickers in her eyes for the first time.

"No, Rachel, _please_, you are **not dead,**" Bruce groans out with desperation, lost for words to convince Rachel she's not dead, _not dead, _she's right here, with him, he can _touch her_ if he lifts his hand and reaches out to her.

How can she be dead if she's right in front of him, he _sees _her, _hears _her, _**how can she be dead?!**_

He feels like crying. He pants, closing his eyes again, but before he can, he feels something wet run down his cheek, and he wipes the tear away furiously before it reaches his chin.

"**I am dead,**" Rachel whispers and that's too much for Bruce. More tears run down from his eyes, his heart aches, the words physically forcing him to grab Rachel by the shoulders and shake her, will the person he knew to come back to that empty shell. He shakes the thin form violently, his face wet with tears, his body trembling.

The gold shining lines are flying above them like some magic fairies, gleaming and shimmering.

"You are not dead! Rachel! You never were dead!" Bruce cries out loudly, his face inches away from Rachel's. "_You are not dead! You are not, __**you **__are__** not –**_" He trails off, his knees too weak to hold his body, and he slips down, suddenly sitting on a chair which is right beneath him, though Bruce is sure there was no furniture five minutes ago.

Bruce is crying and whimpering and he lifts his hands to his face, pressing them to his eyes so hard he sees stars. He braces himself, feeling the temperature in the room drop several degrees.

He feels a cold hand suddenly on his shoulder, and when he opens his teary eyes, he sees Rachel staring down at him, a tiny smile on her face. The hand is icy even through the fabric of his shirt, and Bruce shudders.

Rachel's eyes are dark and he can't see anything in them no matter how hard he tries.

"Do you hear it? I hear it," she whispers, and her voice goes straight to Bruce's head. His body convulses in another seizure of crying and he can't force himself to speak.

"Can you hear it?" she asks him again, her voice hollow and emotionless. "Can you?"

Through the horror that overwhelms him, Bruce gains the last sparks of strength left in his body to shake his head no.

"Listen," Rachel says. Her hand goes back to hold the blanket covering her body, and Bruce realizes she's naked. "Try to hear it," she tells him firmly.

"What, dear?" Bruce manages to whisper. "What do you hear?"

"The dead march."

Bruce swallows the bile in his throat with a great effort, his insides burning as he gives in and sobs hard, shaking as his vision becomes a blur, and he can't see anything through tears and the darkness, his nostrils flaring.

He clenches his hands in fists, nails digging in his palms painfully. Everything is spinning, his head spins, the golden lines mix together, the air thick with fear and insanity.

"Try to hear it," Rachel whispers again his ear, her cold breath making Bruce start.

"Please, _I don't want to,_" he whimpers, and it's true, so true, he doesn't want to try, to hear it, any of it.

There's silence.

"Funerals," Rachel suddenly says with a smile, cocking her head to the side, not looking at Bruce again. "Funerals, feelings, _bats,_" she says almost happily. Her eyes are huge and she looks somewhat fragile and small. "So much. _So much._" She shakes her head slightly, almost laughing at her own words.

The insanity of the situation doesn't let Bruce breathe; he's choking with sobs and screws his eyes shut, suddenly afraid of this Rachel in front of him more than anything else. His hands ball up, toes curled in his shoes and he presses his chin to his chest, willing her to go away and stay at the same time. Oh God, please, _please –_

"I love you," he whispers to the darkness, his eyes still closed tightly. "I've always loved you Rachel, _so long -_"

"I am dead," she says again, cutting him off. "_I am dead._"

She takes a few steps back and leans her back against the wall, letting her head fall back as she stares above in the darkness and the golden mist in the air.

"_Rachel -"_ he moans her name, but she doesn't let him finish.

"You know what to do, Bruce," Rachel whispers, and the breath catches up in Bruce's throat as he hears Rachel say his name for the first time. He misses it so much, oh God, so fucking much!

Everything's very quiet suddenly, and his panting and whimpering sound awfully loud in the dark room.

Rachel's face goes blank again as she speaks, her voice low. Bruce almost misses it, but he doesn't, and her voice fills the room and his body, going straight to his very soul.

"_Sleep._"

---

Bruce wakes up, sweating awfully, his hands clenched in fists, squeezing the sheets tightly, his bed a mess. He pants, his eyes wide, his heart racing, and when he looks up he sees Alfred, sitting on the edge of his bed, worry and concern on his face, emotions Bruce hasn't seen for almost a month now.

His face is wet and he realizes with shock that he's been crying in his sleep, like a child, and Alfred probably heard him sobbing and came in to wake him up. This thought itself makes Bruce feel sick, but the sensation of reality of the dream, of Rachel's presence, doesn't let him go.

God, she was right there, with him, how could he let her go the second time?!

Bruce is panicking again, choking with sobs, making Alfred put an arm on his shoulder and rub it soothingly.

He feels lost, small, stupid, scared, all these feeling mixing inside him in a giant shaking ball, replacing his insides. He's hot suddenly and he coughs as he almost feels something choke him. He screws his eyes shut, but there's a reflection on the inside of his eyelids of the golden shining mist of lines, and electricity goes down his spine.

Oh, God, God, God, _God –_

He shakes his head, trying to brush away the fear clutching his chest, his heart pounding in his throat. What was all that insane shit he just dreamed about?

"Master Wayne?" He hears Alfred's soft voice. "Bruce?"

The butler rarely calls him by his name until there's something really deep and important, not wishing to break his personal space and cross the borders of their employer/employee relationship. But now Alfred does and Bruce looks up at him, his vision still blurry from the tears.

"Everything's alright," Alfred says quietly, convinced, his eyes twinkling. "Please, calm down, I'll bring you a cup of tea." And with that Alfred rises slowly, his hand leaving Bruce's shoulder as he walks out of the room. Bruce feels disappointment at the loss of the touch.

Turning to his bedside-table, he grabs the small bottle of his tranquillizers and pops two dry.

Well, he finally got his sleep.

And was it worth it?

He falls back on the bed, letting his muscles relax. The only sound he hears are Rachel's words ringing in his ears over and over again, mixing with his own thoughts.

_I am dead._

He doesn't want to think about that, not now, no, he can already feel another wave of grief going through his body at these words.

Gosh, the dream was _so real,_ as if he indeed was there, in that tiny dark room with flying, shinning lines, and _Rachel _in front of him, talking to him, _touching him._

_Funerals, feeling, bats. So much. So much._

Bruce wonders bitterly, bile in his mouth, what is that supposed to mean, stunned at how deep down to unknown passages his subconsciousness led him. What can truly be the meaning of all that? Of Rachel, telling him she's dead and she can hear the dead fucking march?

Bruce swallows the bitterness in his throat, and his lip begins to tremble again. He curls up in a ball, covered under the blankets, his arms wrapping tightly his knees.

He's not stupid, after all. He can analyze the dream and understand it's not-so-deep meaning. He can do this, of course.

Only he doesn't want to.

He doesn't want to analyze himself, his emotions and dreams, his attitude to different things, to _Rachel, _because it means he would have _to let her go,_ and this he can't manage - not right now, not ever. He doesn't want to deal with this, all these hard feelings that tear his soul apart. It's so much easier to just shove his grief in the back of his mind and forget about it, distract himself from it and pretend everything's alright. So much easier for him to pretend that he's OK, nothing's wrong, his best friend and her fiancé are not murderer by a psychotic clown, and Bruce desperately wants this man, killer, to be by his side for some unintelligible, insane reason.

He shudders as the thought of the clown enters his mind, and he's glad to find a distraction from that damn dream that makes his chest hurt. He wipes away the dried tears from his eyes furiously, gritting his teeth so hard his cheek-bones ache.

How insane is he if he's gonna do what he wants to right now?

And how is he going to do it anyway? Break into police station, grab the Joker and run away with him to meet the sunset? Really, just how stupid is the idea itself?

Or, even more important, what is he gonna do afterwards? What is he gonna do once he has the Joker to himself? Why does he even _want_ to get the criminal clown?

Again, Bruce stubbornly refuses to think it over. He certainly wouldn't like to face the true reasons for this absolutely stupid desire.

Alfred opens the door and walks in with a tray with tea in his hands.

"Are you OK, sir?" the butler asks him and Bruce is a bit disappointed at being called in a formal way again. He sighs quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Here's your tea."

Alfred's voice goes back to its usual tone – cold and a bit indifferent. Bruce takes a deep breath, shaking his head slightly, barely noticeably; his heart slowly goes back to its normal rhythm.

So the game is on again.

He gets up heading for the bathroom, intending to brush his teeth, as they have become a bit yellowish lately because of the lack of attention from the Bruce. He certainly doesn't want to end up with the Joker's teeth, now does he?

Joker. Again. Bruce snorts, irritated, as all of his thoughts seem to somehow eventually end up with the Joker on his mind.

He has to do something _now_, before it turns into something serious.

Bruce nods to himself silently as he makes up his mind.

----

The Joker is sitting in the bull-pen, wincing in disgust at the smell in the small room. His head is spinning and he closes his eyes, straining himself not to fall through. His arms are handcuffed behind his back.

His nose is itching awfully, and the sensation is killing him as he can't curve to scratch his nose. His blood is boiling with rage at himself and the fucking cops, but mostly at himself. How could he break apart like that?! What the hell is wrong is him, seeing things he _can't fucking see_ like some stupid schizophrenic! How in the name of god could he let himself be ruled by his emotions, especially _this kind _of emotions?!

He grits his teeth, breathing out through his flaring nostrils. There's no make-up on his face; part of it was washed away by the rain, another part wiped away – or better to say kicked away - by the damn cops who couldn't help jeering at him when he was "finally at their mercy." His lips curve into a dark, lopsided smirk as he chuckles darkly at the imbecility of the men working for the 'greater good' of this city.

There's a cop sitting outside, and Joker can see him rather clearly through the metallic crossbars of his cell. He's bored out of his mind, so a little entertainment would be great, he thinks, as he slowly rises from the filthy bench and walks up to the locked door, staring at the cop all the while.

"Hello there," he sing songs, quirking his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side. The cop glares at him with pure hatred, but deep inside the Joker can see the dread in his eyes. He can sense it in the air, and that pleases him, his smirk grows wider. "How goes it?" he asks him in almost friendly way, and the man turns away, pointedly ignoring the clown.

"Oh my, such a rude man," the Joker clicks, shaking his head slightly in disapproval. "Didn't your Mommy teach you to be poli_t_e?" he says, putting emphasis on the 't'.

"Shut your mouth, clown!" the man snaps, and the Joker feels pure satisfaction, his eyes twinkling. The man's hands are clenched in fists now, and his breathing is a bit too fast to be normal.

"My, my," Joker sighs with fake sadness. "Here I am, trying to be nice…" He sighs again, cocking his head to the left slightly. "I guess, I now have to have a… uh, _little_ therapy session, since both you and me have _nothing _to do."

The policeman doesn't respond, turning away from the Joker.

_Choosing the ignoring tactics, aren't we?_

"Now, tell old Uncle Jay, how did a man like _you _end up in a place like _that_?" Joker wonders, his tone too innocent and sugary to be sincere.

"What do you want from me?" the cop sighs wearily, taking off his square glasses and rubbing his nose.

"Me? Nothing but a small talk!" the clown purrs, pacing around the cell, his eyes never leaving the man's. "Just to lighten the _mood_ a little!"

The policeman closes his eyes again, not responding, and that's enough encouragement for Joker to continue.

"C'mon, c'mon, tell me, how did you get to that point in your life?" The Joker's voice comes out deadly serious. "I mean, you look like forty-five, maybe even more -"

"I'm thirty-seven," the man hisses. The clown looks at his uniform attentively, trying to find a plate with a name. He grins like a Cheshire Cat when he finally sees it.

"Of course you are, my dear _Dick Grey,_" he smirks deviously. "Really, what kind of a name is it? How much of a loser does it make you, hmm? I mean, seriously, who would name a kid Dick Grey?"

Dick keeps silent, but Joker can hear his teeth gnashing, and it encourages him to go further.

"Did your parents hate you, huh? I mean it, Dick, how did you come to that point in your pathetic little life?"

Now Dick Grey lifts his head and stares at the Joker, his eyes full of anger, hurt and hatred, and Joker knows he's hit a nerve.

"Seriously, _Dickey_, look at yourself! You are – what, thirty-seven? – but anyone would think you're forty-something, and, really, what is your job? Normally at your age, guys are something more than just security, but those guys obviously don't let you do anything more important and complicated than to sit and watch a criminal locked in a cell, do they?

"You are squinting, and I can see the outlines of glasses in your front pocket, but you're not wearing them, they just lie in your pocket. Still you're obviously uncomfortable without the glasses, which means you try to look cooler by not putting them on, even if it makes you screw up your eyes all the time," the clown says quietly with a smirk on his face, now feeling a power he hasn't felt in a long time, feeling he can twist and turn this man in his arms however he wants to. The cop gulps nervously, and Joker continues.

"You're a brunet, but your hair is _really_ light at the crown, so I can figure that you dye your naturally _blonde _hair a dark color, which means you have complexes about being blonde or other guys tease you about being a, uh, _silly blondie_, which you could simply choose not to paying attention to unless you don't consider yourself _truly _to be stupid.

"What else, what else? Hmmm." He pauses meaningfully, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before his gaze shifts to Dick again. "Oh yeah, there's a white spot of a donut on your pants, I can see it even from my place - it's bright as a sun, and it looks rather old and dried, but it's still there, so you don't really care or don't care enough to go and clean it, and if you had a wife she would have done it for you already. But the spot is there, Dick, and I see you have no wife, nor girlfriend, and you don't give a fuck about how your clothes look. Still you wonder why you can't get a girlfriend?"

The policeman was on his feet already, his hands curled in fists, blushing furiously and shooting Joker the glare of doom, only to make the criminal giggle.

If he only takes a few more steps towards the cage, Joker would be able to catch him off-guard and then use that moron as a hostage.

"Or should I mention the red spot of lipstick that you pointedly left unwashed right on your collar, probably to show everyone that you _do_ have some sexual experience and you're not an impotent or a, uh, _eunuch -_"

"SHUT UP!" the cop roared, his hand automatically reaching down to his belt to grab his gun. The Joker opens his mouth to say something to prevent the fuming guy from shooting him, but no sound leaves his scarred lips as he suddenly catches a glimpse of something black, some dark shadow out of a corner of his eye.

He freezes immediately for a long moment, closing his mouth with a loud clatter. Everything seems to still for a moment as he turns around sharply, his pulse quickening. He feels movement behind himself, and then a muffled sound, and when he turns back to Dick, the cop is lying on the floor unconscious.

Through the panic that rises in his chest with each second he manages to catch a glimpse of a black Kevlar suit, and he's suddenly awfully embarrassed about the first thought that crossed his mind about who or _what_ the shadow may be. He tries to relax a little, breathing out through his nostrils, waiting for the Bat to show himself finally.

He's so happy all of a sudden that a huge grin makes its way onto his face. The Bat has come for him, it means he truly _cares_, it means Joker won't go to Arkham - at least today.

There's a loud bang, making the Joker jump, and the door of his cage snaps open violently, pieces of metallic grating flying in all directions. Coughing from the dust and rubbing his eyes, the clown feels a strong hand on his forearm, squeezing him tightly. Joker grabs Batman in return, pulling him closer desperately to make sure the Bat is real, is here, is not going to disappear like he does in Joker's dreams.

Batman is stunned by such a welcome for a moment before regaining his composure again. His grip on the Joker's arm becomes rather brutal.

"Try any of your tricks and you're not seeing the sunlight ever again," Batman growls in his ear, and Joker doesn't doubt his words for a second. The Bat has sure meant it.

_What's his plan?_ Joker wonders as the Batman drags him out of the room and into a corridor, probably full of cops with guns.

Well, he'll see… _right now_.

----

Review, please? :)


	9. Weakness

**Chapter 9.**

To Joker's great surprise there is no one in the headquarters. Apparently, Bat has already taken care of it.

Batman is now dragging him rather brutally along the corridor and then abruptly to the left where the emergencies exit is. It is rather uncomfortable for the villain to be dragged like that and run with such a speed with his hands cuffed behind his back, but Batman doesn't seem to care. Joker looks at the man attentively – he can tell for sure, judging by that tightly pressed lips and clenched jaw, that the Batman now seriously doubts his actions.

Bruce runs as fast as possible, not wanting to think over his actions for any second because if he starts he'll certainly not have enough courage to continue what he's begun. And, Jesus, he so shouldn't have!

He stops abruptly, turning the Joker around to face him. They're now standing in the dark staircase and their faces are only inches apart, so Bruce can hear Joker's unsteady breathing. He undoes his clenched fist where he's been holding a small key from the Joker's handcuffs and quickly unlocks them. Joker breathes out a small sigh of relief and rubs his wrists where Bruce can clearly see the bruises from too tightly locked rings of cuffs.

"Now listen to me, clown" Batman growls, leaning to the criminal's ear and Joker shudders involuntarily. Bruce takes out a blindfold and waves it to the clown's nose "I'm gonna put this on you for now and you _are not resisting_ or I swear to God, you won't see anything except for the Arkham walls ever again"

Now the Joker panics, Bruce can't really see it but he very well feels it in the air, in the way Joker's breathing becomes shallow and harsh. Bruce doubts the clown would make it easy for him.

Joker backs away suddenly, panic rising deep down his throat, his chest tightens. No way will he put this shit on! Over his dead body! As much as he feels thankful to Bats for this, uh, salvation, he _is not _letting the Bat blindfold him! He's tried so hard to get rid of all this shitty emotions and memories that rise inside of him every time his mind drifts to that dark room he'd been locked in, so he won't allow anyone to bring them back! No way in hell!

"No! Nonono, _no! I'm not doing it! _" He shakes his head violently for emphasis and those gloved fingers on his arm squeeze tighter, digging in his skin through the cloth painfully.

"_Yes, you are_" Batman growls irritably, his patience coming to the edge. "I'm not letting you see where I'm about to put you"

"No, Bats, listen" Joker says, trying to reason with the man "If you're gonna take me to your penthouse than I'll break it to you – I've already been there and even broken out so I perfectly well know where it's situated! And if you're gonna put me somewhere else, than who the fuck cares if you plan on keeping me there anyway?!"

He sees Batman think his words over but this hesitation last only few seconds, before he growls "No"

He can't let Joker go this far, can he? That's too much of confidence he puts in a mass murderer and all that will eventually end up with the Joker letting him down again. No, he certainly won't do that.

"Please" the Joker begs him miserably, fear and panic in his green eyes and Bruce finds himself mesmerized. He shakes his head slightly but something has already changed, Joker has already managed to get under his skin and Bruce is infuriated with that.

"I said, _put it on_"

"Please, Bruce-"

Joker calls him by his name and this somehow distracts Bruce. He hears the desperation in the clown's voice and suddenly he can't bring himself to force the Joker. He's suffered a lot already without Bruce's participation, so why has he to make him go over this again? He doesn't want the Joker to go all panic stricken right now, does he?

"Fine" He says wearily, unconsciously slipping to his normal voice. Joker lets out a sigh of relief and grins widely, his dimples appearing and Bruce has to pretend to be coughing to hide his own involuntary smile. He puts the blindfold away and grabs the Joker's arm again, this time lighter not to hurt him and Joker follows him obediently.

Once they're outside Joker inhales the fresh air deeply, a lopsided smirk appears on his face which for some reason annoys Bruce immensely.

"Get in the car" he orders through his gritted teeth, motioning at the tumbler and Joker eyes it curiously.

"Ooh, I finally get to see the famous Bat-mobile from the inside!" He exclaims mockingly, clapping his hands and Bruce rolls his eyes.

"It's called Tumbler" He informs the clown. "And you've been inside already"

He regrets the words immediately as the Joker's eyes darken at realization and his playful light mood leaves him when he remembers under what circumstances he has been when Bat took him in this car. He sighs and rubs his eyes, some unwashed black paint stains his fingers.

"Whatever" he says and gets inside through the door Bruce opened for him. Bruce follows him, sitting in the driver's seat.

They drive in silence but Bruce senses there's something bothering the Joker. He doesn't ask, though, Joker will tell him if he wants.

Finally, Joker seems to have gained his courage to ask "Can I ask you something?"

"If I say no, will it stop you?"

"No"

"Then why ask?" Bruce says tiredly, his eyes never leave the road.

"Dunno" Joker murmurs, eyeing his nails with great interest. "Bruce?" he calls again.

"What?!" the billionaire raises his voice, annoyed and angry with Joker and his own stupid infantile actions. Shit, what was he fucking thinking when he decided it would be great idea to steal the Joker away from the cops?! What is he going to do now?!

Joker winces at his words slightly, but continues nonetheless.

"Why did you come? Why didn't let them put me back in Arkham?"

"Dunno" Bruce answers spitefully, mimicking Joker's previous answer. "I ask myself the same question"

"Even though you know the answer?" Joker says seriously and he looks so… sane and normal that Bruce for a moment forgets who it is next to him. He looks back at the road, shrugging nonchalantly, feeling uncomfortable under Joker's shrewd knowing gaze. He wishes more than anything to come to the place already and lock the Joker in the room for as long as possible.

He winces when he remembers he hasn't told Alfred anything about his little adventure to the police headquarters. He just told the butler to move to the Wayne mansion, not giving him any reason.

He glances at the clown briefly and seeing that smug smirk again, he wishes with every fiber of his soul to punch the git in the face to wipe it off. His gaze shifts to his half-green curls which look so soft that Bruce suddenly wants to reach out and touch them.

That moment distraction costs him a lot as he almost bumps the Tumbler into the tree. He's fuming, blaming the Joker in everything as he drives into his underground parking.

"Get out!" he roars, slamming the door violently and heading to the exit from the caves, not waiting for the Joker. "Shit" he swears, shutting his stinging eyes tightly and balling his hands in fists. He plucks his cowl, everything inside him burns with rage so he grits his teeth and curls his hands tighter, nails digging in his palms painfully. God, he's so angry and disgusted with himself that he just wishes the Joker to give him any reason so Bruce can beat the hell out of him.

But the Joker gets out of the Tumbler and hurries over to Bruce obediently, making him even fiercer. Bruce stands there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, not knowing what else he can say to vent his anger upon the man.

"Are you done with dramatizing?" Joker asks him teasingly and that's too much for Bruce, his body reacts on its own, turning around and slamming the fist in the Joker's jaw with as much hatred as he could manage.

The Joker's head bounces back and he strains not to lose his balance. His jaw hurts like hell and he rubs it, wincing.

"Feel any better?" He asks Bats with a sigh and Bruce looks like he's gonna puke. He looks at the clown with hurt at realization that he's just let himself be followed by his emotions. Again.

"Sorry" He breathes out, leaning his back against the wall. He's hot suddenly and his body craves the Kevlar suit to be taken off as soon as possible. "Sorry" he repeats, not looking at the Joker. "I shouldn't have hit you"

"Well, you needed to set your anger free" Joker says amicably "You did it"

Bruce takes in a deep breath as he tries to calm down. They stand in silence for several minutes, neither of them moving or saying anything.

Joker looks at the man behind him frowningly, trying to find a proper way to behave. Bruce is seemingly very, _very_ annoyed so he shouldn't push his luck today and play on the billionaire's nerves. He's lucky enough to be taken away from the cops, which he hasn't even hoped for, so he certainly shouldn't piss neither Bruce nor the butler off.

He's really surprised though at Bruce acting so… early. He has expected him to wait some time to understand that he can't live without the Joker and only then act. But Bruce did amaze him with his actions.

Not that he's complaining.

No, no, this makes the situation even more interesting.

He just shouldn't let his control slip away or be pushed by his emotions and everything will be great and –

"Let's go" Bruce murmurs suddenly, making the Joker snap out of his thoughts and follow the Batman to the lifts that will take them up.

-

-

"What?! You did _what_, sir?!" Alfred exclaims as soon as Bruce and Joker walk into the kitchen. His eyes are wide-opened and his gaze shifts wildly from one to another, mouth opened slightly.

Bruce has already taken off his suit but now he wishes he hasn't.

"Hey old man!" Joker greets the butler cheerfully, waving an arm at him. "Long time no see!"

"Shut up!" Bruce growls before turning to the butler again.

"Alfred-"

"No, sir, I mean it!" Alfred cuts him off, motioning at the Joker. "What on earth made you do such a thing as to break in the police station and kidnap the most wanted murderer in Gotham and bring him to your house?!"

Now, when he heard it from another person, it really stopped making sense to Bruce. Really, what kind of an infantile moron is he? Alfred's absolutely right, what made him do that?! Stubbornness? Warm-heartedness? Egoistic desires? Hatred? Definitely not hatred, otherwise he'd let this man rot in the jail. Then what?

It all begins to enrage him once again. Inability an answer to his own questions has always been driving him mad, from his early childhood, making Bruce feel small and irresponsible. Now, after all these years the feeling just seems to have increased.

"I couldn't let them have him" he explains somewhat apologetically, looking everywhere but at Alfred and feeling like a delinquent teenager. "Please, Alfred, you have to understand"

The old butler keeps silent for almost a minute where Bruce finds himself holding his breath. Alfred breathes out a long-suffering sigh and mutters "Your kindness will probably kill you either day, sir"

Bruce looks up at him. Alfred looks very tired and… disappointed? Apparently with Bruce. He feels a desire to justify himself, to regain Alfred's trust.

"Joker, go to… the room" Bruce orders the criminal, almost saying 'your' room. "I need to talk with Alfred in private" he adds, not sure why he is even explains his actions to the villain.

"Then how am I supposed to know what were you talking about?" Joker says playfully and Bruce thinks the Joker is too merry today. He glares at the criminal, not in the mood for his silly games and Joker seems to have got the message. "Alright, alright, Batboy, no more jokes" he says, lifting up his hands defensively and goes to the first room he sees, shutting the door behind himself. He walks somewhat clumsily, Bruce notices distantly before turning back to the butler.

"Look, Alfred, I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything" Bruce begins "But I just couldn't help doing it. I just… God, I couldn't!" He can hear the desperation in his own voice, aware of how pathetic he is right now but he can't help it. His uncertainness, his doubts, fears, all that making its way to his heart, clutching it, choking him. Alfred looks at him closely, his lips a thin line.

"You're not the only one who acts, followed by his own emotions and wishes, Master Wayne" Alfred says so quietly Bruce has to strain to hear it. He looks up at the butler, surprised with his words.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean" Alfred says more loudly, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly "that lately I've been doing something I shouldn't have, guided by my own selfish wishes but I can't act any other way! Can you see, Bruce?" Alfred calls him by his name and Bruce starts involuntary. Something must be really bothering Alfred to drive him to the edge.

Now that Bruce looks at him more attentively he sees the dark circles around Alfred's eyes, his hollow cheeks. What it is that tortures the old man like that?

"I've been doing something… horrible, sir. And under any other circumstances I'd be sure to fix it but I can't now, it's too late and all I can do is deal with the consequences" He pauses, rubbing his eyes slowly before covering his face with his hands. Bruce stares; that's one of these rare times when he can see Alfred like that, having lost all his self-control and imperturbability. "I could have been put in jail for this" Alfred adds quietly, cocking his head to the side and looking at some point on the floor.

"What is it? What is it that you've done?" Bruce asks him, frowning, desperately wanting to hear the answer but also dreading it.

Alfred shakes his head "I… I can't tell you, sir" he says firmly.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you don't need to know" the butler cuts it off sharply "And it would do no good to you if you knew, only make everything worse and more complicated than it already is! And as much as I want to set my guilt free by telling you, Bruce, it would be just egoistic of me" He raises his voice, now almost shouting at the vigilante, in his eyes mixture of rage and desperation.

Bruce swallows nervously, unable to figure what he can possibly say to this, so he just stares. Alfred keeps silence, his chin pressed to his chest.

"I'm going to make dinner now, sir" Alfred says after some time, his voice regaining its composure. Bruce doesn't have time to respond before Alfred turns on his heels and retires from the room.

Bruce leans on the counter heavily, more tired and exhausted than ever, wishing nothing more than go to bed now, but his previous experience prevents him from doing so. His eyelids are heavy and he has to strain to keep his eyes open so he decides to have a cup of coffee before going to the Joker. He can't afford himself any rest now, not when the Joker is around and he has to keep constant vigilance.

He stops in mid-action as he notices an almost empty Kent pack of cigarettes lying near the coffee machine. It doesn't mean anything, he assures himself, it doesn't mean anything, really.

He doesn't feel any difference even after the second cup of coffee. Annoyed, he gets up and makes his way to the room where Joker disappeared several minutes ago, preparing himself to any insane sight he might see on opening the door.

But to his immense surprise, Joker is just sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees, staring at some point at the wall, his expression blank. He's absolutely still like a monument, his lips slightly parted.

"Joker" Bruce calls him in a dry voice, stepping into the room. The villain doesn't move, not even acknowledges his presence.

"Joker!" Bruce repeats, walking to the bed where clown is sitting. Still, Joker makes no sign that he even noticed Bruce, staring unblinkingly at the wall, his gaze unfocused. "Joker, dammit!" He's now standing close to the criminal, frowning down at him, and he's surprised to see pure terror in the Joker's wide eyes as he continues to stare at the opposite wall. There's a tight feeling appearing in Bruce's chest, wich goes down his spine. He swallows, suddenly very nervous, as he places a hand on the clown's shoulder and squeezes it slightly.

"Joker! Are you ok?" he doesn't respond and now Bruce is scared for some reason, he shakes the Joker like a doll until the criminal blinks once, then twice, his gaze finally focusing on the billionaire.

Bruce breathes out a sigh of relief, still frowning, his heart beating faster than it should.

"What the hell was that, Joker?!" he snaps, annoyed with the fact that he even cares after all, and Joker looks up at him, breathing fast and shallow, eyes wide with fear.

"Batsy?"

His voice is hoarse and quiet, barely audible and he looks confused, blinking owlishly at Bruce.

"What was that? You seemed to be… turned off" Bruce growls, frowning deeply, disliking the concern he feels in the moment.

"Oh. I'm… uh, fi-"

He stops in mid-word, mouth opened, looking somewhere above Bruce's left shoulder, his eyes go wider.

"Joker!" Bruce's hands are now on both of Joker's shoulders and he shakes the thin man violently. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" The Joker doesn't respond, merely staring somewhere past Bruce in terror, and Bruce automatically turns around but sees nothing except for the empty wall.

The Joker looks so scared and miserable that Bruce feels bad for him, his own pulse quickens and throat goes dry. He opens his mouth again but he doesn't have a chance to say anything because the Joker, in one fling, wraps his arms around Bruce's waist and pulls him closer, hiding his face in a material of the billionaire's sweater, almost knocking Bruce off his feet.

Bruce freezes, unable to think of what to do now, not sure whether to pull the criminal the hell away from him or let the clown hug him, too dazed to move. But then he hears a muffled whimper somewhere near the level of his navel where Joker's face is pressed tightly and Bruce pushes his inner monologue aside, his hands move on their own accord, hugging the man back, enveloping him in tight embrace, pulling him closer. His right hand goes up to rest on the Joker's hindhead, touching his hair, a thing he's been secretly craving to do for so long.

The Joker's back rising and falling unsteadily and Bruce hears low muffled moans and whimpers, brand new feeling in his chest goes up to stick in his throat and his head spins a bit from the warmness that spreads all over his body, replacing all the other thoughts and emotions. He can't think of anything else but the warm body leaning onto him and holding on him as if his life depends on Bruce. He turns his head around again but there's still no one behind, nothing that could scare the Joker so much and his hands squeezes the man tighter.

That's when Bruce notices the Joker's left hand shaking violently as his fingers grip the vigilante's sweater. Bruce pulls away slightly and takes the clown's hand with both of his own, watching it twitching and shaking in convulsion. Joker's eyes are screwed up, his lips pressed in a thin line, the lower lip trembles. He's such a mess, Bruce thinks distantly as he slides down on his knees before the Joker so they're on the same eye level and he looks the clown in his emerald green eyes, now clouded with fear.

"What is it, Joker?" Bruce asks him softly, almost whispering. The Joker shakes his head silently; his expression pained and haggard as he glances again and again to the spot behind Bruce, seeing something there, something beyond reality and that scares Bruce immensely. They can always fight a real enemy, person, but how to fight a part of sick imagination, a hallucination?

The Joker's hand doesn't stop twitching and Bruce has to reach his pocket and fish out his Thozarine bottle he uses when he really needs to calm down and hands a pill to the criminal in front of him. Joker doesn't even try to resist, just swallowing it dry in one moment. He glances there again as if to see whether the drug has had its effect on him already in spite of the fact that only several seconds passed and by the look of desperation on his face Bruce can figure this… thing is still there, scaring the Joker, not letting him breathe freely.

"Please, tell me" He whispers again, staring the Joker in the eyes "what do you see?"

"It's… I…" the Joker stammers, turning his face away from Bruce, his breathing harsh and shallow, voice hoarse and shaky and at the moment, the split second Bruce feels the Joker's fear in his own blood, running up through his veins, as if the clown just gave him the part of himself and his feelings, making Bruce shudder and his heart race.

Without thinking over his actions, caught by the moment, Bruce flings forward and embraces the Joker, wrapping his arms tightly around the slender body. Joker is caught off-guard for a moment before willingly giving in to Bruce, letting the man envelope him, burying his face in a crook of Bruce's neck; his hands hold the vigilante's forearms in a death grip, biting his lower lip as it trembles harder.

Bruce holds him tight, amazed at how pleasant is the feeling of the Joker's curls under his chin or the heat radiating from his body. They are now sitting on the floor, Bruce on his knees and the Joker in some awkward clumsy position, half-sitting, half-lying on the billionaire.

Bruce doesn't know what encourages him to do that, nor does he want to think about it, but he begins to slowly rock them both, Joker's legs are now thrown over Bruce's, and he whispers some comforting words to the clown's ear, rubbing his back soothingly as the man starts shaking.

"It's not here" Bruce hears suddenly, nothing more than a breath against his chest. "It's not here" Joker whispers again, trembling. "It's not here. It's not here. It's here. It's not here. _It's here, here, not here, herenothea-_"

He repeats these words over and over again like a mantra, and Bruce screw his eyes shut helplessly, not knowing what else he can do. So he just hugs the criminal tighter and whispers more senseless things until the words die down completely as the Joker fells fast asleep on Bruce's lap.

A strong desire appears suddenly, probably because of seeing the Joker like that – exposed and vulnerable, _needy_, amazes Bruce and leaves him a bit dazed, when he defines it as a wish to protect the Joker from whatever it can be that scares him, just not leave him and guard him from any evil, like the Joker is now his property and he feels extremely possessive about the clown. The feeling is so strong Bruce can almost taste it on his tongue, some bitter sweet that saddens him and pleases him at once.

Bruce sighs heavily, still shaken from all this raw emotions he just had to experience. He lifts the Joker easily, pleased to find that the man has gained some weight after the last time he held him, and places the man on the bed, careful not to wake him up, though the drugs must have taken their effect on Joker already.

He straitens, stretching his asleep limbs, and pops two pills of Thozarine, thinking about getting another bottle for the Joker since the only one bottle is too small for both of them. He also needs to look for something to do with the Joker's twitching hand.

He makes a mental note to think through all these insane switches in their moods and the whole fucking crazy _relationship_, if it even can be called that.

He groans as he remembers he now has to go and meet Lucius to find out the results of the research. He can't put it off, Lucius may have important information for him about the fiend who had captured the Joker.

Sulking and growling Bruce makes his way back to the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee.

He certainly doesn't want to fall asleep in mid step, does he?


	10. Fair and unfair

**Chapter 10.**

They don't talk about the hallucination accident the next day, or the day after. As a matter of fact, they don't talk at all.

Bruce makes sure to have put all the security system on the room the Joker now occupies, not wishing to go over his own mistakes once again. The Joker is locked carefully in the room, and only Alfred goes in to give the criminal some food.

Bruce knows he's avoiding difficulties again. He knows that, but he also knows that he's physically not capable of facing his problems. So he stays at Wayne Enterprisers till late at night and goes for work early in the morning, not wanting to stay home for another minute, being tempted to go to the Joker's room and –

And, what, exactly? He shakes his head sternly and bites his nail, as he doesn't know how to answer that. What was the whole idea at the first place? To get the Joker out of prison. Why?

The silence is his answer.

He's completely lost for actions, or words he can say to the clown. He was confused enough before the whole… hallucination thing, but now he's just… too perplexed. He can't figure out what to do now, what to do with the Joker, and he's infuriated with not being able to figure why he has been so stupid to bring the damn clown to his house at all.

He certainly can't give the Joker back to police, but he also can't put him in Arkham in his current mental state. And though his mind screams at Bruce to just shake the villain off at the _mental hospital _where that is their main aim – to cure _mentally _sick criminals - he can't bring himself to do that, because he very well knows that there wouldn't be any help for the Joker. Not with the way they're treating their patients.

Bruce chuckles mirthlessly at the thought that he even _cares _about such things as their ways of treating sick criminals.

But, that's just… unfair.

---

Today he comes back home in 2:46 am and he's almost sleepwalking. His eyelids are so heavy that he's forced to close one of his eyes in turn to let the other rest for a minute.

He goes straight to the living room and topples down on the couch, stretching his legs and letting his muscles relax. He yawns so hard there're tears in his eyes and he lazily wipes them away. He's so exhausted he doesn't want to go to his room, not caring about sleeping fully dressed.

He turns around to change position and a sudden pain in the neck makes him wince and let out a weak moan, rubbing the back of his neck slightly.

What the fuck.

He gets up slowly, staggering on his weak legs, and heads to his room, determined to have a normal sleep on a normal bed. His neck aches immensely and he curses all the way along.

He pauses suddenly as he passes the Joker's room, stopping to stare at the white door and the chink of light coming from it.

Joker never turns off the light. He's sure there's something in the darkness, watching him, spying on him, scaring him. All these childish fears may seem ridiculous to Bruce, but they are really driving the clown mad.

Joker is paranoid.

But who wouldn't be, under his circumstances?

Sighing, Bruce turns to face the door completely as he suddenly wants to come in and check on Joker, just to be sure he's not cutting his veins open now. He's just worried Joker might have done something stupid, and he just wants to be certain everything's alright. He nods to himself slightly, reaching his hand to unlock the door by supplying the password. Alfred made sure to set up all these devices on the room, so the Joker would realize that his attempts to break out are poor and brainless.

Entering the room, Bruce lets his eyes adjust to the sudden bright light and he wonders how Joker can possibly sleep with such illumination.

Joker lies on the bed on his back with his legs stretched out, one arm placed on his stomach and the other under his head. His face is relaxed and calm, and he looks so young and harmless that Bruce can't match him with the killing clown psychopath he knows. His breathing is steady, chest rising and falling rhythmically, and Bruce can't tear his eyes away for some reason, looking at the pink scars that are very vivid on the pale skin. He leans back on the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. His legs refuse to hold him and he slides down against the wall on the cold floor.

Joker doesn't stir. Bruce watches him through half-closed eyes, and he chuckles at the thought of falling asleep in the Joker's room and what the clown would think of him when he finds Bruce sleeping on the floor in the morning. He has to get out now, before such a thing happens.

He stands up heavily, like a ramshackle aged man, and slowly makes his way to the door. His hand is on a handle already when he suddenly hears a quiet but firm voice behind him.

"No."

He turns around sharply, afraid of the Joker finding out that Bruce secretly watches him during the night, but the clown is deeply asleep, frowning at something he sees in his dream.

"No," he repeats, more aggressively this time, wincing, and the hand on his stomach curls in a fist, knuckles whitening. Bruce watches, mesmerized, as the Joker's expression changes to a sore one. He winces as if from pain he feels and bites his lower lip hard, his breathing quickening. The next moment there's an expression of absolute horror on his face and he gasps in his sleep.

"No," he says quietly, his hand clutching the material of the white T-shirt he's wearing. He opens his mouth again and mutters something, and Bruce strains to hear it.

"Yellow spots."

Bruce frowns at the meaninglessness of the words. Yellow spots? What spots? He looks closer at Joker. His face is now an expression of pure pain, but Bruce is sure somehow that the pain is not physical.

"Bruce, Bruce… oh why?" the Joker whispers, his voice weak and tired, and Bruce raises his eyebrows, surprised at hearing his own name. Joker dreams about him? But the clown's expression tells him very well that there's nothing good in the dream, and Bruce shudders at the thought of being some monster in the clown's nightmare. "Oh Bruce," Joker sighs shakily. "Yellow. Yellow spots."

He turns around to his left side, now facing the stunned Bruce. Joker's eyelids tremble and then he suddenly opens his eyes, blinking and frowning.

Bruce just stands there, like a kid, caught doing some prank, not knowing what to say or do. Joker's gaze shifts on him and he focuses his eyes on Bruce, staring at him.

"You are here," he half-states half-questions. "Right?"

He must be wondering if he's not imagining me, Bruce realizes, nodding.

"Yes," he says hoarsely, and coughs to clear his throat. "I came to check on you before I go to bed."

His voice is somewhat… awkward, and Joker notices it too. So Bruce asks a question quickly to break the awkward silence.

"What were you dreaming about, Joker? You were… saying my name and… some things."

Joker frowns, and his hand goes up too rub his scared lips. He looks somewhere past Bruce, not really seeing, as he confesses, "I don't remember."

He tells the truth. Bruce sees it in his eyes; he really doesn't remember, but Bruce wants him to, wants him to say that Bruce wasn't his nightmare, wasn't doing anything horrible in his dream. He doesn't know the reason for this irrational need, he just wants to hear it.

"So, Brucey comes to me at nights to admire my _slee_-ping beauty," Joker drawls, smirking, and Bruce is affected by the words, by the fact of how true they are.

Fuck, he wasn't admiring the clown. He was just very tired.

It all is the Joker's bloody fault.

"I'm touched, Brucey, I _truly_ am touched," he continues as Bruce doesn't respond. "I consider you to be _ve_-ry handsome, _too._"

Bruce grits his teeth as the ridiculousness and absurdity of the situation strikes him. What the hell is he still doing here?!

All of this enrages him suddenly - the Joker, the fact he's always in his house, he's dreaming of Bruce, Alfred's fucking confessions – all that enrages him all of sudden within seconds. His hand goes down in his pocket automatically to take out a Thozarine bottle and he pops one dry. What a mess he's created, again!

"Oh, why so serious, Brucey?" Joker teases, and Bruce isn't sure whether the Joker is in a good mood or just wants to piss him off. "You're always so serious and _angry_. How can you live with all that anger?"

And Bruce explodes. "Shut the fuck up!" he shouts, his hands curled in fists, and in the back of his mind he sees himself from the third person and he doesn't understand what he is so angry about.

The Joker's face hardens. "Why are so angry with me?" he demands, his tone serious, and that makes Bruce laugh mirthlessly.

"You seriously don't understand why I'm being cross?! You're a fucking murderer, maybe that's why?!"

"Oh stop it!" Joker shots back, his eyes darkening "You knew it from the beginning, you knew I killed and would kill again, and that didn't stop you then! It's your problem you act before you think, so quit being a stupid kid and face the problem already!"

"Oh yeah?! And what can I face? A clown psychopath I locked in my room because I don't know what to do with him?! Or Alfred telling me he's done some god only knows what horrible thing and then shutting me out?! Or the fact I can't sleep at all, using pill after pill to get myself calm?! What can I face?!"

All that cumulative offenses, incomprehension, emotions he doesn't want to feel, all of that gets out right now because the Joker initiated it. The tense ball inside his chest loosens a bit as he tries to shake all this shit off himself, saying it finally, saying it out loud.

"Oh, I see, you like sulking," Joker suddenly says, narrowing his eyes at the vigilante.

"What?!"

"You like feeling miserable, feeling _guilty_. You think if you blame yourself that much, no one has a right to blame you more, as you've already punished yourself enough," Joker explains, staring straight at Bruce's soul. He keeps silent, lost and confused, irritated with Joker's crazy assumptions.

"That's bullshit, Joker," he says, straining to keep his voice cool, but it still appears shaky with emotion. He suddenly wants to beat the living daylights out of Joker so much his hands ache, and he puts them in his jeans pockets to stay away from temptation. "It's just… so unfair."

Great, now he's complaining.

"Oh yes," Joker nods, his eyes still narrowed. "Your two favorite words, fair and unfair. I wonder where do you put anything else, beyond these two categories? Beyond 'good' and 'bad'?"

Bruce keeps silent, furrowing his brow, hating every word that escapes Joker's mouth but still desiring to hear it all.

"I'm sure, for you it's all about justice, the way you see it," the clown continues, his tone dead serious and voice quiet, and Bruce can't match this… dangerous, somehow, manipulator with a sleeping, harmless young man he observed less than five minutes ago. "You made up the _Bat_man in a burst of a sense of duty, because you believed _this_ is justice, this is _fair_, but I'll tell you now, Bruce, and do listen to me because there's _NO _such a thing as justice!" Joker raises his voice sharply, now almost shouting, and Bruce backs away automatically.

He's the Joker, he reminds himself. He's a dangerous criminal and he's smart and manipulative and he can talk me into _anything_, Bruce tells himself firmly, but there's little consolation. The Joker's words affected him, got under his skin already, and he can't back off now until he hears all of this.

He's burning with fury, though, his hands curled in fists as he listens to the Joker so readily deny everything Bruce's been taking for granted for his entire life.

Joker's wrong, Bruce knows it, he just can't figure how to prove it to the villain, how to put his muddled thoughts into words.

"_Everyone_ has his _own_ morals and ideas of justice, concept of 'fair' and 'unfair,' and in this variety and chaos, tell me, how can you find _any_ fucking justice if there's none?! The lath you've set up for yourself doesn't fit others', Bruce, so how the hell can you possibly expect people to fit into whatever sick morals you have on your mind?!" He's panting now from the shouting, his jaw tight, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing.

Bruce doesn't respond, his mind going over the words again and again even as Bruce wishes it wouldn't. He doesn't want to think about it this way, doesn't want to let Joker spoil everything he believes in, doesn't want to, afraid the words might be true and then what will it be left for Bruce? His morals and rules are the only thing he can rely upon, so what will it be without them? What will be left of Bruce?!

"Fair – is to protect innocent people from scum like you, Joker! People, who don't deserve the things you do to them," Bruce spits through painfully gritted teeth. He won't let that fucking clown get him, he won't let him make Bruce doubt!

"Oh, and here goes another piece of bullshit!" Joker exclaims, looking wild, like a caged animal. "Remember, once and for all, Bruce, there're no _innocent_ people in the entire world!"

"What the -"

"Tell me, c'mon, who do you consider to be innocent, huh? People without sins?! Do such exist? Tell me, then, where lies the thin line that ends innocence?! What does a man need to do to go from your 'good' category to the 'bad' one, hmm?!"

Joker shouts at him, and Bruce distantly thinks about waking up Alfred. He doesn't know how to respond to that, can't figure any possible response that would be reasonable enough. He's burning with emotion, and his guts leap, the cold uneasy feeling deep inside his stomach that twists and turns his insides and goes up his spine. There's suddenly a clot in his throat, preventing Bruce from breathing freely, and he can't think of anything better than to turn around and rush out of the room, running from the problem, as usual.

Both the kitchen and the sitting room are dark, illuminated only by the moonlight through the large windows, and Bruce can see only outlines of furniture around. He paces to one of the windows, looking at the city beneath him as he braces himself desperately, his eyes stinging.

Is the Joker right? Is Bruce just too blind to see all of these? Does he still take his childish ideas for granted instead of growing up finally and facing the world, all the masks out? Is it really so… pointless, what he's doing? It so is, if the clown's right.

Bruce stands there in the dark, forehead pressed to the cold glass of the window, breathing deeply and slowly, trying to calm himself down but failing. Joker's words already took their places in his brain, ringing in his ears over and over again as Bruce screws his eyes shut, suddenly getting cold.

There're quiet footsteps behind him and Bruce expects it to be Alfred, probably awoken by Joker's shouting, so he's both surprised and angry to see the clown himself making his way through the doorway and into the room, as Bruce mentally curses for forgetting to lock the room back up.

The Joker makes his way to Bruce, slowly and noiselessly, and Bruce can't see anything besides the dark silhouette of a man until he comes closer to a window and lets the moonlight illuminate his features a bit. There're odd shadows dancing on his face and the rough skin where his scars twist his mouth makes the villain look especially dangerous.

"Bruce, I -" he begins, but Bruce cuts him off, venom in his voice.

"I don't remember allowing you to leave the room," he spits out, glaring at Joker, and the clown shivers.

"Please, Bruce, I didn't –"

"Get the hell back to the room before I throw you there myself," Bruce hisses, turning fully to face the Joker, his insides burning with rage and something close to self-pity.

The Joker constantly glances around his shoulders, such a desperate, paranoiac motion that Bruce suddenly remembers that Joker can't stand the darkness anymore, so it must be damn hard for him to stay there like that.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh as he walks to the wall to turn on the light, his vision getting blurred for a moment and he lets his eyes adjust to the light. Joker stands in the middle of the room, looking rather ridiculous in the T-shirt Bruce gave him, which is too large for him, hanging on him like a sack. He's bracing himself, looking at Bruce with a regretful and hopeful expression, asking him silently to hear him out.

Bruce pauses, not sure what to do now, whether he should be stern and stand his ground, or give up, again, to the clown's manipulative speeches.

"Please, Bruce, do listen to me," Joker begs him, motioning to the couch he's standing near, and Bruce finally makes up his mind. In three large steps he's by the Joker, sitting down on the sofa. The same one he'd almost fallen asleep on before going to the Joker's room.

Joker follows him, sitting next to Bruce clumsily, hitting his hip on the armchair in the process and nearly ending up on Bruce's lap. He's too clumsy for such a great world destroyer, Bruce thinks sardonically, moving aside a bit to leave more room for the clown.

"Sorry," Joker murmurs, positioning himself near the vigilante, still _too _close to him, but Bruce lets it go, too tired to pay attention to such things.

It's still difficult for him to believe that he's right now sitting peacefully on a couch with the most wanted criminal in Gotham, who also happened to be a psychopathic clown bastard with a manipulative character, who considers himself to be the most intelligent and sensible person in the city.

Well, Joker _is _intelligent, Bruce has to give him that. He's the kind of man who marks all these tiny unnoticeable things about a person, catches all their words, to use them later against that person. He's also smart enough to figure a man's character by the way he dresses, behaves and speaks, so he lets himself toy with people and their feelings, their _lives_, after all, he believes they are all _way_ too obtuse to be anything besides his _entertainment,_ and –

"Look," Joker begins. His voice makes Bruce snap out of his thoughts and he blinks, his gaze focusing on the clown. "I didn't mean to be that harsh, I really didn't. I was just being … _overemotional_, I call it. Anyway…" He claps his palm on his knee, his eyes wide and he leans closer to Bruce, as if going to tell him some secret of great importance. "I'm now gonna tell you a story, so please hear it and don't interrupt old Uncle Jay, 'k?"

Bruce doesn't respond, simply too dazed by the Joker's words. A story? _Either of us must be insane_, Bruce thinks as he leans back to the couch back.

"Once upon a time -" Joker begins like a professional story-teller, and Bruce can't help a chuckle that escapes his mouth involuntarily. He shakes his head slightly, a tiny smile on his lips as he realizes the Joker has just turned him from a raging beast to light-headed, interested listener in a matter of seconds. Joker makes a disapproving face at him, clicking his teeth and frowning, and Bruce lifts his hands defensively in apology, encouraging the man to continue.

"So," the clown goes on again, his gaze fixed on Bruce's eyes, "once God sent on earth an old wise archangel and a young inexperienced angel," he says in a smooth voice, and Bruce stares at him, wide-eyed as the meaning of the words sinks in. What kind of a story is it, and more important, _why_ is the _Joker_ telling him _this _kind of things?

"Yeah, yeah, I _know_, 'Joker _can't possibly believe in God_!' but can you _pleeease_ let me finish?" Joker grumbles discontentedly, and Bruce nods, still dazed with what he's hearing.

"As I was saying, God sent them to earth for the young angel to learn all this… uh, _holy-stuff _from the older and wiser one that would be _archangel_. So the old one took him to the first house that the archangel picked, pretending to be real people, and they asked the family in the house to let them in for a night, as they were poor travelers. The family appeared to be _ve-_ry poor themselves, _beggarly_, I would say, with lots of kids and a tiny place to live and only one cow, which they milked, and sold its milk to earn a living. But they still let the angels in, and gave them the best place in house for the night and fed them the best food they had."

Joker makes a meaningful pause, letting Bruce digest the words. "Kind people they were, weren't they? And imagine how shocked the young angel was when in the morning he found out that the archangel killed the cow during the night, the family's only way to get money for food.

"He asked him 'Why did you do it? They were so kind to us!' But the archangel said nothing, and they set off to the next house.

"In the evening they picked another house, and the family there appeared to be really wealthy, just like you, Brucey, with fancy horses and a large house and all that stuff."

Bruce rolls his eyes, but the clown ignores him.

"Nevertheless, they didn't give the angels anything to eat, and provided them with a tiny ramshackle barn to sleep in, along with the dirty stray dogs. So when the angel woke up, he was shocked again to see the archangel sealing up the cracks in the walls of a barn. So, again, he asked his mate why he was doing this work for such horrible, greedy people."

There's another pause and Bruce finds the Joker's intensive shrewd gaze on his face. He swallows convulsively, as he thinks he knows where the story's going.

"And what d'you think the wise archangel answered, hmm, Brucey? He said, 'You didn't notice it, but there is an old treasure buried in the walls of this ancient barn. If I didn't seal the cracks, these people would find it and become greedier and vainer. You also missed the fact that the cow in the house of the kind family was ill with rabies, and if the family drank its milk once more, they would become fatally ill. So I killed the cow to prevent it from happening.'"

Joker falls silent, and Bruce suddenly can't force himself to meet the man's eyes. He looks away hurriedly, the words ringing in his ears. The clown sighs deeply before saying, quietly but firmly, "What I'm trying to say, Bruce, is that people – _any_ of them – are too… narrow-minded, too dim-witted and stupid to see _the whole, true picture_! They just _aren't _capable of seeing further their own nose, of trying to dig deeper and understand anything around them! And if people can't even understand their own lives, how can they possibly judge anything else?!"

Bruce doesn't respond; he simply doesn't know what he can answer to that. The Joker is too close to him in that moment, dangerously close, both physically and mentally, making Bruce vulnerable, and he doesn't like it. He feels the heat radiating from the villain's body and he presses his stinging eyes shut for a second, wishing for this moment to last longer, the moment where Joker's human side is so vivid and tangible. He opens his eyes and the delusion is washed away.

"Everyone judges as far as they're concerned, Joker," he hisses through his gritted teeth. "It's our only way to live and stay alive. The only _sensible_ way."

He stands up sharply, face away from the Joker, not wishing to hear his sick philosophy any longer. Enough of this, at least for now.

"Get up," he orders in a cool tone, and he hears the Joker sigh quietly before moving obediently from the couch and making his way to the room, his head ducked down. Bruce opens the door for him, waiting for the man to come in so he can lock him. Just before Bruce closes the door, Joker turns to him, his eyes narrowed.

"You _know_ I'm right," he says quietly, convinced, eyeing Bruce shrewdly. His piercing gaze goes to the billionaire's soul, and Bruce feels completely exposed.

"I don't want to look at the world from your dark and pessimistic point of view," Bruce growls, so tired with all the talk and incomprehension, questions and enigmas, but before he steps aside to supply the password on the door, he hears Joker's voice. His knowing tone annoys the hell out of Bruce.

"But do you have a _choice _now?"

He slams the door with a loud crack.

---

On the way to his bedroom, Bruce gets out his cell phone, dialing to check his voice mail in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the fucking Joker and his fucking stories.

He indeed succeeds in that as his attention flicks to a voice in his phone, a voice mail from Lucius Fox, informing him there's a result from the searching.

Bruce swallows nervously at the thought they might have come upon the tracks of the Joker's captor finally.

He makes his way to his room, thinking over the possibilities of the bastard's identity.

Absentmindedly, he thinks of the fact that their recent shouting in the sitting room didn't wake Alfred, who's usually very keen on each noise and sound. Now he remembers he hasn't quite seen Alfred in the evening either; not a sign of the butler in the house since dinner. But he doesn't let his mind dwell on that, as the more important news rings in his ears again.

They _finally _traced the sadistic bastard.


End file.
